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INDIA 

BELOVED OF HEAVEN 



BY 

BRENTON THOBURN BADLEY 

n 
IN COLLABORATION WITH 

OSCAR MacMILLAN BUCK 
JAMES JAY KINGHAM 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

BISHOP W. F. OLDHAM 




THE ABINGDON PRESS 

NEW YORK CINCINNATI 






Copyright, 1918, by 
BRENTON THOBURN BADLEY 



OCT IS \m 




CONTENTS 

PAGH 

Preface 7 

Introduction 9 

I. On His Majesty's Service 11 

Brenton Thoburn Badley 

y II. Ponniah James Jay Kingham 29 

III. For the British Raj .... Oscar MacMillan Buck 46 

IV. The Tiger and tee Lamb . . .James Jay Kingham 63 

V. A Mission School Romance 74 

Brenton Thoburn Badley 

^ VI. When the Gods Are Dying 87 

Oscar MacMillan Buck 

VII. What's in a Name ? James Jay Kingham 106 

■> VIII. Roads to Peace Oscar MacMillan Buck 116 

IX. The Lawyer-Preacher James Jay Kingham 133 

y X. When Outcastes Dream 156 

Oscar MacMillan Buck 

XL In His Blindness Oscar MacMillan Buck 168 

XII. With the Gods in Mdttra 181 

Brenton Thoburn Badley 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



FACING PAGE 



Gulab Singh meets the Captdn Sahib 12" 

"The Aryan white and the Aryan brown, on the battle- 
fields of France" 24 *^ 

"He removed his sandal and slapped the big idol across 

the face" 38^ 

"Your son is wounded, Thakur Das" 60 ^ 

"Pakkia Nathan, you have scared them all away" 72'' 

"Ask this miserable creature how much money a wife 

would be worth to him" 84 ^ 

"They were rejoicing at their escape from the dangers 

of the way, and at their safe return" 100 

"The men of India drink ttese words as thirsty children" 130^ 

In an ancient stronghold of Hinduism 147 ^ 

" 'What is it?' he pleaded, as if some one stood at his 

elbow" 170 ^ 

"High up on one side there grew two short misshapen 

legs" 186 •/ 

"We had reached the great temple that . . . opens out 

... on to the river" 200 'Z 



PREFACE 

rriHIS is not a book of fiction, though 
■■■ there are elements of fiction in some of 
the chapters. The chapters by Mr. King- 
ham are faithful records of what he himself 
has experienced in India. The stories by the 
two other writers are founded on fact, 
though in the matter of detail and treatment 
the prerogatives of the story-writer have 
been assumed. 

The stories in these pages give some idea 
of the far-reaching changes in life and 
thought that are so rapidly coming over In- 
dia. They have been written by three Lovers 
of Hindustan, seeking to bring America and 
India still closer together in the bonds of 
the most disinterested international friend- 
ship our world has yet known. 

The unusually fine illustrations by Mr. 
Jack Flanagan, of New York, have been 
added through the generosity of friends of 
the author without cost to the pubHshers. 

B. T. B. 

7 



INTRODUCTION 

rilHE old India passes. The dreamy, puz- 
'- zling, lovable, lotus-eating land, with 
her beauty and tenderness, yet hiding much 
that hurts her children, is rapidly undergo- 
ing a new birth. 

Not only do her forms change ; her brood- 
ing spirit within and all her outlook change 
— and yet her winsomeness remains. It in- 
creases. 

The poison flowers wither, but the champa- 
das and the jasmines bloom. Languorous 
odors fill the air, and the bulbul and the 
nightingales sing; but the hiss of the cobra 
dies down. 

The healing Christ is somewhere around. 
His transforming touch is on India. 

This sweet, strange land, with her baffling 
life, can be interpreted only by her lovers. 
The writers of these tales are such — two of 
them she bore on her bosom from helpless 
babyhood. All three have drunk of Ganga's 



INTRODUCTION 

water and have cried "Bande Mataram" — 
*'Hail, blessed mother!" 

Who would learn a little more of India, 
the beloved of heaven, let him read. 

W. F. Oldham. 



10 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

T T was Gulab Singh's luck to run right into 
"*■ a good thing quite unexpectedly. He 
was in Bombay, on a trip from the docks 
to the hotel, having failed to get in touch 
with any prospective patrons among the 
several who had landed that day. He saw 
a sahib leaning out over a pile of luggage, 
shouting at the driver of the victoria. Just 
as the carriage came up to him a gust of 
wind blew the gentleman's sola topi off his 
head. Gulab Singh ran and picked it up, 
brushing it with his jharan as he handed it to 
the irate gentleman. 

"Look here," exclaimed the handsome 
young sahib, "can you tell this blooming idiot 
to drive me to the Army and Navy Co-opera- 
tive Stores?" 

Now, Gulab Singh had picked up a little 
EngHsh, and the Army and Navy Stores he 
knew anyway. Accordingly, he jumped up 

11 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

on the coachman's box and enhghtened the 
driver, who happened to be a greenhorn, sup- 
plying for his brother for a day. 

Gulab Singh was an up-country man, who 
had failed to secure service and was now in 
Bombay. He had had to borrow money to 
make the journey, for even the third-class 
ticket from Agra had cost him more than 
he could hope to earn in a month. He had 
been spending his time partly at the docks 
where the P. & O. liners come in, and partly 
at the Taj Mahal and other hotels, hoping 
that some young English officer just ar- 
rived from England, might take him on as 
"bearer" or valet. 

Not that Gulab Singh — which, being in- 
terpreted, means "Rose Lion" — had had 
much experience. He had served a young 
lieutenant at Meerut for a few months, and 
at Agra had had a few transient nauharis — 
services. He was young, only twenty-four. 
His chief dependence was on some letters of 
recommendation — "chits" we call them in In- 
dia — ^that he could borrow from an uncle 
who bore the same name and who had served 
many families, chiefly military, in Bombay. 

12 




Gulab Singh meets the Captan Sahib 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

A few of the best and most recent of these 
he now had in his possession for possible use ! 

After the sahib had bought what he needed 
at the Army and Navy Stores, he noticed 
that the extra man continued on the box with 
the driver to the hotel. When his luggage 
had all been placed on the veranda there, he 
was faced by the salaaming Gulab Singh, 
who, with "chits" in hand, offered his wilhng 
services to the huzur, "the Presence." 

"Huziir is going up-country and will need 
a servant?" 

"Yes, but I'm blowed if I know how you 
found it out!" 

Gulab Singh was not the only Indian with 
a ready imagination and ability to make a 
shrewd guess! 

By this time several of the "chits" had 
been opened up, ready for inspection. The 
young captain, for such he was, took one 
and read: 

"Gulab Singh, bearer, has served me for 
several months. He knows how to take care 
of an officer's sword and uniform, and I 
found him very handy about the Mess and 
Polo grounds. He seems to have a knack of 

13 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

doing very well a variety of things that are 
a help to a military officer in this beastly 
land. He leaves my service as I have been 
posted to the hills and he prefers to remain 
on the plains." 

This was signed by a lieutenant of the 
"Fom-th Ghurka Rifles." It sufficed our 
young captain, who pushed aside the rest of 
the letters, including most valuable ones that 
belonged to the elder Gulab Singh. 

"I don't go much on letters. I'm willing 
to try you. Take charge of these things. 
Put those two bags," tapping them with his 
cane, "into my room here, and see that the 
rest of the stuff gets to the 'Victoria Termi- 
nus' for the Punjab mail this evening. I'm 
off to Meerut." 

And so Gulab Singh was again an afsar's 
naukar — an officer's servant. Between 
twelve and two o'clock he made a hasty trip 
to his uncle's to return the borrowed letters. 

"Ram's name be praised!" he exclaimed, 
"a young captan sahib has taken me on. We 
leave for Meerut this evening. Here are 
your letters." 

Saying this, he produced all the letters, 

14 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

including several contained in a cloth-lined 
envelope, with "On His Majesty's Service" 
printed across the top left-hand corner. It 
was a stout covering, and showed long and 
hard usage. He had doubtless picked it up 
somewhere. 

"You still carry those old letters of your 
father's that he got from the colonel sahib/' 

"Yes," replied Gulab Singh. "Since my 
father died, I keep them with me when I am 
gone from home. Who knows when the old 
chappar (thatch) that covers us may not 
catch fire and burn up everything?" 

He handled the envelope with reverence, 
and added: "It has also a letter that was 
given by the sahib whose life my grandfather 
saved in the time of the great gadr [the In- 
dian Mutiny of 1857]. My father often told 
me to take special care of that." 

Sentiment plays a great part in the lives 
of India's sons. 

Now, it is not the object of this story to 
follow the brief career of Captain Clyde 
Boynton Stanhope in India. He had landed 
at Bombay in 1912, and in 1914 the great 
war broke out. That changed the career of 

15 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

hundi-eds of officers in the British army in 
India. He had come to love India, and 
though he had never been there before, he 
could not forget that both his father and 
grandfather, the one in civil, the other in 
military service, had given their best years 
to this land. 

His first days in Meerut were lived as 
in a dream. How strange that he should be 
in this Indian city, where fifty-five years be- 
fore his grandfather had been among the few 
who escaped in the sudden massacre that 
ushered in the tragic rebellion of the sepoys ! 
He visited the scenes of the massacre, and 
tried to imagine that hot and bloody Sunday 
of May, 1857, when the houses of the Euro- 
pean residents had been set on fire, and men, 
women, and children had been butchered as 
they fled from the flaming, thatch-roofed 
bungalows. 

The soldiers were at church — the parade 
service — and were there without their rifles! 
They had been set upon in the midst of the 
service. Never since that day have British 
soldiers attended a parade service without 
their rifles and bayonets. 

16 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

Yet Meerut was quiet and beautiful now. 
What superb avenues of shady shisham 
trees ! What fine polo and parade grounds ! 
What pride and interest the officers took in 
their men — descendants of those who had 
shared in the massacre of the earlier day. 

When the call came to England and 
France, Captain Stanhope's regiment was 
among the first to embark. He was again 
at Bombay. Again his luggage was on the 
veranda of the Taj Mahal hotel — but con- 
siderably less in amount. Gulab Singh was 
also there. The English officer had come to 
have a real regard for his "bearer." The 
young servant combined devotion and dig- 
nity in his service, and with many short- 
comings — among which lying figured duly 
— still showed an undoubted and unusual 
attachment to his young master. He served 
with growing admiration the fine, strong, 
enthusiastic young officer. The fact was 
that the open, generous nature of his sahib 
had won his heart. 

When it came to the question of his mas- 
ter's departure for Walayat (England), 
Gulab Singh steadily maintained that he 

17 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

would go along. As a first step, he came on 
to Bombay, and now he insisted that he 
should cross the seas. Was the sahib not 
able to arrange it? 

"O, yes, that part of it is all right, Gulab 
Singh, for the colonel has permitted officers 
to take their servants as far as London, if 
they choose. But what will you do when 
you get there?'* 

"Do, Sahib? Is the great larai [battle] 
not on? Are you not going to fight? Can 
I not be with you on the campaign there, 
as on the military excursions here?" 

Now, Gulab Singh had no idea of what 
he talked about. He was imagining a whole 
lot, and had nothing to draw on except his 
limited Indian experience. The fact is, he 
longed to go. To him it seemed now like a 
question of personal loyalty to his sahib. 

"Namak — halal" was the greatest word 
in the vocabulary of Gulab Singh. Liter- 
ally it means "loyalty to one's salt." 

"I have eaten the Sar^ars [govern- 
ment's] salt," said he. "I think I can help 
you there. Do not refuse me permission. 
Sahib!" 

18 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

And so Gulab Singh crossed the great kdld 
pdnij the "black water" — ocean. Thou- 
sands and multiphed thousands of India's 
sons were soon to do the same. A new day- 
had come for India. Indian troops were to 
go to Europe. They had fought under Brit- 
ish leadership in Africa, Egypt, China — 
but who had expected to live to see this 
great new day? A mighty thrill swept 
through her ancient peoples. New dignity 
entered into their hfe; a new future began 
to open to their enlarged vision. India 
would never be the same again! 

For Gulab Singh, the new exalted life 
had already begun. His wonder daily in- 
creased. The nearer he got to England the 
higher rose his pride. He was, at last, at a 
man's work! There was something else — 
he did not know it, but it was there never- 
theless. The Aryan blood in him was astir. 

We do well to think of this — the meeting 
in India, after thousands of years of separa- 
tion, of the two branches of the great Aryan 
family. The gulf that has separated them 
has changed both from the type in the 
original family home in Western Asia, but 

19 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

there they stand at last again, brethren, side 
by side! Save for color, and certain admix- 
tures of other blood, the two are still much 
ahke. The clear-cut features remain the 
same, the same fine sensitive nature marks 
the two. The Enghshman or the Ameri- 
can, when face to face with either Chinese, 
Japanese, or African, cannot but feel that 
he sees a man radically different from him- 
self. When he meets the Indian it is dif- 
ferent — there is an instinctive resumption 
of the fellowship broken off in the dim 
past. 

ISTeither Gulab Singh nor Captain Stan- 
hope thought of these things, but it was in- 
teresting to note the growing regard of the 
sahib for his servant, and the increasing re- 
spect of the valet for his master. And so 
the voyage terminated. While the young 
Captain spent a brief period of leave with 
his people, Gulab Singh, as a matter of 
course, stayed on to serve him. When the 
young officer was ordered to camp, there 
still was no reason why his Indian servant 
should be separated from him. But when, 
a few weeks later, the regiment was ordered 

20 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

off to France, there was a real question to 
be settled. 

Again Gulab Singh prevailed. He had 
come thus far — what was there now to do 
except to go on? Surely, if the sahib had 
need of him in England, he could make 
some use of him in France. Were the two 
countries, then, so utterly different? 

Thus we find Gulab Singh at last on 
French soil, behind the British fighting 
lines. Many were the ways in which he 
made himself useful to his young captdn 
sahib during those strenuous and perilous 
days. Often did Captain Stanhope bless 
the day when he picked up the faithful 
Gulab Singh in the streets of Bombay. 
Had not his first, unasked, service of help 
been prophetic of all the assistance he had 
been rendering since? 

After several weeks, during which Gulab 
Singh went through years of experience, 
there came a terrible day — one of those days 
that will go down in history. Gulab Singh 
and his beloved captain were in the retreat 
from Mons. Now, Gulab Singh did not 
know why a British army should have to re- 

21 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

treat. He had not been brought up on that 
kind of tradition! He had yet to learn the 
glory of that wondrous feat of courage and 
endurance, whereby so slender an army was 
able to foil the purposes of the Prussian 
hordes, even in the act of falling back be- 
fore the terrible onrush of their overwhelm- 
ing numbers. 

There came a perilous day toward the 
end of that almost impossible feat of arms 
by England, France, and Canada, when 
Gulab Singh's master had to hold a position 
with his company, covering the retreat of 
important detachments. It was evident to 
any man that it was a time to earn glory, 
but not to save life. The young captain 
explained the situation to his faithful In- 
dian servant, and told him to fall back. 
Gulab Singh remonstrated. 

"If there is danger for my Sahib, he will 
need me all the more," said he. 

"It is not a question of danger merely, 
Gulab Singh," exclaimed the Captain, "it is 
a matter of death." 

"If death is preferred by my Sahib, it is 
good enough for me," he said, earnestly, 

22 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

and refused to take the vanishing oppor- 
tunity to withdraw. 

We shall not be able to follow the for- 
tunes of the fighting there during those 
fateful hours. The undying heroism of 
those who died in khaki that day may never 
be chronicled. 

Captain Stanhope's company held their 
ground till the end, and saved the situation 
at that point. Only a few wounded men 
came out of that conflict to tell how the 
foe had been checked. 

The last to fall was the captain himself. 
Gulab Singh, who had been in the thick of 
it all, came instantly to his side. He was 
only wounded. 

"Go back, Gulab Singh. There is still 
time. Tell the Colonel Sahib that we did 
not yield." 

Gulab Singh did not heed — he was con- 
cerned only over the stream of blood that 
flowed from the captain's wound. He 
bound it up as best he could, tearing long 
strips from his turban to do so. Then he 
said — 

"Come, Sahib, I will help you back." 

23 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

There was nothing to be done by remain- 
ing. The khaki forms on the ground moved 
not. 

Slowly and painfully the two made their 
way back, Gulab Singh skillfully taking 
advantage of every bit of cover, and some- 
times almost carrying his master. 

It must have been a stirring sight — the 
Aryan brown and the Aryan white, on the 
battlefields of France! Typical too of In- 
dia helping England in her hour of need. 
And Gulab Singh was only in the van- 
guard of the one million sons of India who 
were shortly to respond to the call of the 
empire, for the cause of justice, liberty, 
democracy. And Gulab Singh was typical 
in this, also, that he came as a volunteer. 
There has been no conscription in India ; no 
draft is needed to bring her miUions on to 
the scene of freedom's war against tyranny ! 

The dangerous strip of land had just 
been safely covered by the wounded, now 
almost fainting officer, and his faithful In- 
dian servant. They had just got touch with 
a British column. 

"You are safe, Sahib!" exclaim^ed the 

24 




"The Aryan white and the Aryan brown, on the 
battlefields of France" 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

proud and happy Gulab Singh, as he caught 
sight of British uniforms near, and saw 
some soldiers advance to their help. 

The captain lost consciousness and Gulab 
Singh allowed his form to sink upon the 
ground. He kneeled beside him to adjust 
the bandages and stanch the flow of blood. 
They were still exposed to danger from an 
occasional enemy bullet. 

"He, Parmeshwar," he exclaimed, "grant 
that he may live!" 

The men coming forward to aid the officer 
had seen Gulab Singh kneel to help the 
wounded officer. The next instant they saw 
him fall forward on his face. 

He did not move. Gulab Singh was 
dead! 

The party coming up found that the In- 
dian had been shot in the breast and killed 
instantly. The officer was still alive. 

They carried them both to the rear of the 
lines. 

The captain regained consciousness, but 
was delirious. 

"Go back, Gulab Singh. . . . Bring the 
tea and toast. . . . I'm going to the Polo 

25 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

ground. . . . See, there's the jjaltan [regi- 
ment]. . . . Steady, boys — we can hold 
them!" 

He was taken to the base hospital, where, 
with careful nursing, he recovered. 

When he was able to understand things, 
he was told of the death of his Indian serv- 
ant. They did not need to add that Gulab 
Singh had saved his life. He knew that. 

Among the things found on Gulab 
Singh's body was an envelope. It contained 
a letter, said the nurse, signed by Colonel 
James Randolph Stanhope, and so it had 
been saved for Captain Stanhope. 

"Perhaps it was an ancestor of yours in 
the British army of India?" asked the nurse. 

"It is my grandfather's name. Let me 
see the letter." 

A soiled, much worn, cloth-lined envelope 
was handed to him. 

The first thing he noticed was that the 
top left-hand corner bore the familiar words 
in print — "On His Majesty's Service." 

Carefully the young captain took out a 
faded, much-creased letter. He glanced 
first at the signature. It was that of his 

26 



ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE 

own grandfather, colonel of the 9th Sikh 
Cavahy. The date was October 30th, 1858. 
He read: 

"On leaving India I take keen pleasure in 
writing this letter for Gulab Singh. For 
seven years he served me faithfully as 
bearer. His work was always satisfactory 
— a service that he crowned by helping me 
to escape death at the hands of the muti- 
neers in Meerut. Had it not been for his 
timely and unhesitating assistance, both 
Mrs. Stanhope and myself must certainly 
have met a cruel death at the hands of the 
rebellious sepoys. 

"I have made suitable provision for him 
and his family and am both proud and 
grateful to accede to his request for a per- 
sonal letter. The Stanhopes must ever re- 
main grateful to the house of Gulab Singh." 

The captain lay motionless a long time, 
holding the letter in his hand. The thing 
was fairly overpowering. Gulab Singh's 
grandfather had saved his grandfather's 
life! And here he himself was lying safe 
in a base hospital, saved by the devotion of 
the grandson ! 

27 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"Grateful to the house of Gulab Singh!" 
And he could not express his gratitude to 
his own Gulab Singh! 

Then he read the letter once more. After 
that he folded it up and put it back in the 
old, cloth-lined envelope. This time he 
noticed that a hole had been torn in the top 
left-hand corner of the envelope, almost 
obliterating the word "His." 

He turned the env^elope over. It was 
stained with blood. The hole was made by 
the bullet that killed Gulab Singh! 

His eyes took on a far-off look. His 
thoughts went back to Meerut — to the 
bloodstained Meerut of 1857 — to the quiet 
and beautiful Meerut of 1914. 

If he lived through the war, he would re- 
turn to India, look up the family of Gulab 
Singh and honor and reward them. 

The Stanhopes were still more indebted 
to "the house of Gulab Singh." 

His gaze rested again on the envelope. 
He read, "On His Majesty's Service." 

"Ay, Gulab Singh," he said aloud, "both 
you and I, both England and India, to the 
glorious end — *0n His Majesty's Service!' " 

28 



II 

PONNIAH 

TN the classroom of the old Jesuit mission 
•*■ at Tuticorin a boy of sixteen was mulling 
ov^er his lessons, humming them aloud, and 
sometimes singing them in competition with 
the twenty-five others of his class whose 
nasal voices blended and discorded with his 
from time to time. His blue-black hair was 
luxuriant and gathered in a knot at the back 
of his shapely head, but tendrils escaped 
about the finely modeled forehead and he 
brushed them back from his brows without 
a moment's cessation of his reading, in his 
carefully modulated, expressive sing-song. 
Their Tamil lesson finished, at the 
teacher's word the pupils gathered up their 
books and placed them in small book-sacks, 
which they rolled up and tied to carry home. 
Ponniah remained to question his teacher, 
a Tamil man of the same caste as himself, 

29 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

presenting certain physical resemblances, 
though somewhat heavier and taller than the 
slim brown youth who stood before him. 

"Sir, this lesson was most delightful, and 
I have been waiting to ask you a question 
on its application. Plere is a line in the 
stanza, about which Kasthuri and I argued. 
He said it was wrong, but I held it is right, 
and said I should ask you." 

"Ponniah, there are some very remark- 
able expressions in the stanza, but the gram- 
mar is correct. Where did you find it?" 

"Teacher, I am fascinated by the classic 
writers, and imitating their style, I wrote it 
myself." 

"This is not bad for a boy. Let me have 
it to-night and you may get it in the morn- 
ing." 

So, the teacher took the roll of manuscript 
covered with Ponniah's somewhat irregular 
penmanship, and Ponniah with a low bow 
and the most respectful salaam passed out 
of the room into the open sunlight. As he 
stepped outside the building he walked al- 
most into the arms of his uncle, who was 
waiting for him. Not taking time to let 

30 



PONNIAH 

Ponniah get his breath, the older man began 
speaking. 

"Ponniah," he said, "everything is ready 
for your wedding to my daughter Pushpam. 
The guests are come, the wedding supper 
is cooking, the gifts are ready, the Brah- 
mans wait, only the bridegroom is lacking. 
Come, enter my oxcart; let us get home to 
our village." 

"But, uncle, I have told you again and 
again that I should not marry till I had 
completed my education. How can I study 
and succeed after taking a wife? If I spend 
much time on my books she will be jealous." 

"Ponniah, who are you to argue with me? 
Your people and mine have arranged all 
things. You have but to obey. Come with 
me at once!" 

But Ponniah merely looked a moment 
into the darkening face of his uncle, and 
then turned to run swiftly away. At the 
exit from the great stone-walled compound 
which contained the Jesuit mission build- 
ings, he turned his head to see if he had 
gained upon his pursuing uncle, and at the 
same moment two heavy hands fell upon 

31 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

his slim figure and he was thrown to the 
ground by a man who had stood concealed 
by the great gateway. A moment later his 
uncle too was upon him and the two raised 
him to his feet. The struggle was in vain, 
so he allowed them to lead him to an oxcart 
standing in the street near by. They loaded 
him inside its capacious ribs and the uncle 
ascended behind him, while the opportune 
ally seized a goad and di*ove the oxen more 
rapidly than such great beasts generally 
travel, out through the narrow streets and 
at last into the open country. Then on and 
on till the stars shone out and the youthful 
prisoner was sound asleep in the bumping 
cart, between his two captors. 

They reached their destination before 
midnight, a large prosperous village with 
towering palm trees and drooping plan- 
tains, great fields of grain waving under the 
moonlight which lighted the broad plains 
and even showed the far-off mountains. As 
they dismounted in the courtyard of a great 
brick dwelling they found the wedding 
guests asleep on mats and cots which filled 
and overflowed the surrounding sheds. 

32 



PONNIAH 

Their showy garments and the fihny white 
cloths spread over their heads gave them a 
mysterious appearance, but it was only a 
few minutes till the driver had unhitched 
his oxen, placed fodder before them in their 
stalls, and taken his place among the silent 
forms, while Ponniah's uncle merely relaxed 
beside the silent form he was watching. 

A httle later he had fallen sound asleep 
and there was not a sound in the courtyard, 
except some snoring among the wedding 
guests and the cattle munching their fodder. 

A mosquito lighting upon Ponniah's un- 
covered face awakened him, and he gazed 
about him. Everyone was asleep and he 
had no difficulty slipping out of the wagon 
without arousing his uncle. From the great 
open courtyard he passed into the house, 
which was even more completely full of peo- 
ple than the courtyard, but here were only 
women, women sleeping as soundly as the 
men outside. Ponniah looked about inside 
the building for a place of concealment. At 
first he thought there was none, but he re- 
membered a great grain jar which reached 
nearly to the ceiling and was some eight feet 

33 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

in diameter. In the darkness he groped 
carefully till he found it, then, avoiding one 
of the sleepers whose shimmering white gar- 
ments warned him of her presence, he 
climbed from a wooden mortar up to its rim 
and threw himself over the rim and inside 
the jar. It was half full of rice and he was 
soon sound asleep in that warm chamber. 

When he awoke the whole house was in 
an uproar. Every one asked his neighbor, 
"Where is Ponniah?" They searched high 
and low for him, dragged the wells and cis- 
terns, hunted in the woods, searched the 
neighboring houses, but Ponniah was not to 
be found. Secure in his hiding place, he lis- 
tened to the comments and bewildered ques- 
tions of the guests and of his own family. 
The day passed, but Hindu weddings are 
not a matter of a day, they require three 
days, and on the third day, because much 
treasure had been spent and because a bride 
whose wedding is postponed can never be 
married, they married his uncle's daughter 
to another cousin, one less fortunately en- 
dowed than Ponniah both by nature and by 
inheritance from his parents. 

34 



PONNIAH 

On the third day the wedding was over 
and the guests were feasted and bade fare- 
well to the parents of the bride and the 
bridegroom. Ponniah, though within sound 
of the feasting, had had no part in it and 
was stiff with enforced movelessness and 
hungry with long fasting. When certain 
that all had left the room, he stood up and 
looked over the rim of the great jar. Some- 
thing of the feast remained. He could eat 
and hide till evening, then steal away in the 
darkness. He climbed over the rim and 
lowered himself to the floor, dropping stiffly 
the last two feet of the distance, and almost 
at the same moment the door opened and his 
uncle entered. 

"Ha!" he shouted. "Now I have you 
who caused me to marry my daughter to a 
poor man, you who escaped and deceived 
me. You will pay the penalty now. Scoun- 
drel!" 

And he seized Ponniah and tied him to a 
pillar that supported the roof, while he went 
out to look for a rod with which to beat him. 
While he was gone his nephew shpped his 
slim wrists out of the tight lashing, then 

35 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

placed them so that his uncle would not sus- 
pect him, remaining in the same posture with 
his arms raised and encircling the pillar. 

The rod was a stout bamboo, and it 
whistled through the air as his uncle put his 
force into every blow. Ponniah could only 
bear two or three. He turned suddenly 
and, to his uncle's great surprise, seized the 
bamboo club and struck his assailant, almost 
stunning him. He then rushed from the 
house as fast as his young legs could carry 
him. 

Ponniah was free! It was a long time 
before it was safe for him to return to his 
father's house. The whole village was re- 
lated as only caste villages in India can be, 
family to family, and the hue and cry pur- 
sued him for many a day ; but at last he got 
home again, and remained there till his peo- 
ple were ready to send him to school again. 

While waiting, one day he heard an evan- 
gelist telling the story of Jesus Christ, the 
Lamb of God whose sacrifice taketh away 
the sins of the world. While Ponniah was 
not yet ready to leave home and wealth for 
that gospel, he believed the simple story, be- 

36 



PONNIAH 

lieved the severe yet joyful evangelist, and 
promised himself that some time he would 
turn to that "Way" and yield to that 
"Book." Sacrifice and persecution lay in 
that path. 

Outside the village and a half mile away, 
upon a rising ground stood the village idol, 
a huge image of brick and mortar, covered 
with plaster and hideously fashioned and 
painted, some eighteen feet high, turning its 
great hollow eyesockets toward the village. 
On festal occasions the village clerk would 
place the big silver eyes, of which he was 
official custodian, within the hollow sockets, 
so their god might see and smile upon the 
village. 

Ponniah and his friend Peria Swamy 
stood beside the idol and were speaking of 
the futility of idolatry. Ponniah said, "I 
don't believe in idols, and I do not fear 
them." 

"Neither do I," said Peria Swamy. 

"Watch me," said Ponniah, and he leaped 
lightly to the knees of the great idol, then 
climbed to its arm which was laid across the 
breast, then, standing upon the arm, he re- 

37 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

moved his sundal and slapped the big idol 
across the face with the most insulting ob- 
ject imaginable to Hindu thought, his 
leather shoe. 

Now, Ponniah was not a Christian, he 
only hoped to become one some day, and yet 
he had thrown oft* the shackles of supersti- 
tion so fully that he could renounce idolatry 
forever. Had he been a Christian, he would 
not have insulted the god his people wor- 
shiped. His action was seen and the village 
clerk determined to revenge the community 
insult and punish Ponniah. He sent for 
the inspector of police and informed him 
that Ponniah had stolen the big silver eyes 
of the idol. 

In the house of the clerk the inspector 
questioned the clerk: 

"You say that you saw him steal those 
eyes?" he asked. 

"Yes, sir, I saw him steal them," he said. 

"What were they like. Clerk?" asked the 
inspector. 

"Sir, they were big silver balls, as big as 
your two fists," said the clerk. 

"Papa," said his little son, who had come 
38 




"He romovcd his Htiudal and slapped the bif? idol 
across the face" 



PONNIAH 

in unnoticed, "they aren't the balls you keep 
in that chest in the corner, are they?" 

Then the big inspector looked in the chest, 
and there were the silver eyes, and Ponniah 
was proved innocent of the charge against 
him. He had again escaped danger. 

But Ponniah was unpopular at home, and 
he slipped away to me and asked me to 
baptize him, as he wanted to be a Christian. 
I taught him to pray and in answer to his 
prayers he found peace and joy. 

I asked the leaders of the church at Tuti- 
corin if we should baptize him, and if they 
thought he would make a good Christian. 

In the mat-walled church at Tuticorin he 
was baptized and stayed with me for a day 
or two while we were planning what he 
should do. The second night we lay asleep 
in my little room on the roof of a great 
grain warehouse, a little room I rented for 
one dollar and sixty-six cents a month, the 
only quarters I had for months at a time. 
I woke suddenly, for some one was fum- 
bling at my feet. 

"What do you want?" I asked. 

"Where is that Pillay boy?" was the an- 

39 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

swer. I knew then that Ponniah's friends 
had come to take him away, for they were 
of high caste and felt his defection to Chris- 
tianity most keenly. 

"Get out of here," I shouted, and rose 
to pursue them. How they ran, and how I 
ran after them! But they made their es- 
cape, clattering down the three sets of stairs. 

The next night, however, they found him 
while he was at supper, waited till he came 
out of the Hindu restaurant, then laid him 
forcibly inside an oxcart and tied him hand 
and foot. When they were not watching he 
slipped his hands from their bonds, untied 
his feet, and ran away in the darkness to 
me. Brother Rajappan and I placed him 
upon an early train to Madras, and he went 
away, assuring me with boyish confidence 
that he would study hard in the mission 
school there and thus become a great 
preacher. 

So he stayed in Madras and studied as 
hard as he was able, grinding away at that 
beautiful but difficult Tamil poetry with its 
marvelous capacity of saying much in few 
words. There he learned the choice verse 

40 



PONNIAH 

of Tiruvalluvar, who "was wont to hollow 
out a mustard seed and pour the Seven Seas 
inside it." 

But his longing for home and mother 
overcame him. He had not yet found out 
that Christ is all in all. One evening, with- 
out my permission, he took the train south- 
ward and the next evening reached Tuti- 
corin. Thence he traveled afoot to his vil- 
lage and his people. They welcomed him 
with open arms. He was glad to be at home 
again. His parents were the same dear 
parents he had left behind when he came to 
Christ. The evening passed, and Ponniah 
lay down to rest in the same cot he had used 
as a boy. 

He woke suddenly, conscious that his 
mother was bending over him. "My son," 
she said, "we are so glad that you have come 
home. We have been disgraced by your 
falling into the evil way of the Christians, 
and now your father has brought the Brah- 
man priest, the branding iron is red-hot, and 
we will brand your tongue to cleanse you 
from the pollution of baptism and of min- 
gling with the accursed eaters of flesh and of 

41 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

kine. When thus you are clean once more, 
we shall take you back into caste, and you 
shall be our son again." 

"But I cannot leave Jesus. He has saved 




me." This was all he could say before his 
father's viselike grip was upon him and the 
hot branding-iron was before his eyes. He 
struggled, and they were frantic, but his 
youth conquered in the end, and when I saw 
him the following evening at my camp in a 
nearby village, he showed me his body 

42 



PONNIAH 

clawed and bleeding as if some wild beast 
had met him. "The wounds," said he, "with 
which I was wounded in the house of my 
friends." 

Then Ponniah went to a mission school in 
Tinnevelly, but one day the letters from 
home were too much for him, and one of 
them told him that his uncle was dying. 
Ponniah went home without my permission. 
He found the man lying upon a cot, and 
knelt beside him. 

"Uncle," said he, "Jesus Christ has saved 
me from my sins, and I have peace with 
God. Do you beheve he could save you 
too?" 

"Of course, if he saved you. I never was 
as bad as you," was his uncle's answer. 

"Uncle, may I pray for you?" 

"Yes, if you want to, pray." 

Then Ponniah prayed for his uncle, who 
had wronged him, had bound him, had 
beaten him, and would have prevented his 
education; and his prayer was like this: "O 
God, my uncle has worshiped idols all his 
hfe. He has bowed down to stocks and 
stones. Wilt thou not come into his heart 

43 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

and save him, for his heart has become like 
the stones he worshiped ? O Jesus, come into 
his heart to-day." 

While Ponniah prayed, Jesus was knock- 
ing at the stony portal of the old man's 
heart. It opened a little and the old man 
felt the warmth that had not been there for 
years, the warmth of love like the shining 
of the sun in springtime. It felt so good 
that he just threw the door wide open and 
Jesus came into his heart. 

"O Ponniah, I've got it, I've got it," he 
shouted. 

"What have you got, uncle?" asked Pon- 
niah. 

"I don't know what it is, Ponniah, but I 
think it's salvation," he said. 

The death of the heathen is a most dismal 
affair. They crowd a great number of folks 
into the little room of the dying, and long 
before his spirit goes, the death wail is 
sounding through the whole village — that 
wail that chills the marrow of your bones, 
that tears your heart with its long-drawn 
agonies. 

But Ponniah's uncle did not die that way. 

44 



PONNIAH 

He refused all mourners and Ponniah kept 
them away, and when he died, his spirit 
went with praise and joy unspeakable, went 
home to God. Ponniah came to tell me all 
about it. He said he had never heard of 
such a triumphant death, and read me a 
beautiful Tamil poem he had written de- 
scribing it. 

Ponniah came to me a month before I left 
for America, and gave me a deed for an 
acre and a half of land in his village. He 
has come into the possession of his own 
property at last, and with a smile he said, 
"I shall build a Methodist church building 
upon that land, and when you return to In- 
dia, I want you to dedicate it." 

Ponniah's last letter told of thirteen con- 
verts whom he had led into "the Way." 



45 



Ill 

FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

rpHIRTEEN years ago, in a village of 
-*• North India, I saw the two for the first 
time. I had jumped from the oxcart and 
with the munslii was walking toward the 
mohulla of the Christians. It was then that 
I saw the one, the elder. He stood at the 
entrance of the village street. Three silver 
medals hung from his quilted jacket. As 
I neared he stood sharply to attention, and 
threw up his hand in a military salute. Then 
I saw his face — a grizzled old veteran of the 
Indian army. You have seen the face of 
General Joffre? Darken it to a rich brown 
and dress it in an Indian turban, and you 
have my friend Thakur Das. 

"Bandagi, Maharaj.^ Welcome to our 
unworthy village. ''Hat! Get back! Will 
you boys and girls trample the Maharaj 

Literally, " Great King." 

46 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

that you crowd him so?" — and he descended 
on the naked children, unused to the sight 
of a fair-skinned sahib from afar. 

I turned with a laugh. 'Twas then I saw 
the other. He was the leader of the array 
behind me, a boy of ten. He had been herd- 
ing cows, and his long bamboo staff still lay 
on his shoulder. The cows were forgotten. 
He saw only me, and as I walked into the 
village I could have swung my hand behind 
my back and caught him by the arm. 

"Maharaj will honor my house first. 
Run, Kanhai Singh, and bring some warm 
buffalo milk. Take this pice for sweetening 
in it." 

The little cowherd came forward with 
hand outstretched for the money. His eyes 
were blazing with excitement and his bare 
limbs were quivering. 

"I perceive you have seen the world some- 
what, Thakur Das," and I studied the shin- 
ing medals on his bosom. I had learned to 
recognize the ribboned clasps of many of the 
wars England has waged in the East. "I 
see the Punjab and Afghanistan. What is 
the other?" 

47 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"It is Burma, Huzur," and the old man 
chuckled. The crowd had gathered. I had 
lighted a long-laid fuse. "You and I know 
the world, Maharaj. I have told these 
simpletons" — and he waved his hand indis- 
criminately over the heads of all — "I have 
been telling them the wonders and marvels 
of the world. But what can they under- 
stand? They are ganwars — they know 
nothing but mud-walls, grass-thatch, and 
cow dung. We have seen the world." He 
dominated the situation, and their submis- 
sion was complete. 

The buffalo milk in the polished brass 
lota was placed in my hands and the boy sat 
on his haunches at my feet, staring un- 
ashamed into my face. Thakur Das waited 
while I drank. I handed the lota to the 
boy. He bore it within and returned with 
a fan. 

Thakur Das could restrain himself no 
longer. "You are here to confirm my 
words, your Presence. I have told these 
men of the world, of Calcutta and Bombay, 
of the great 'black water' and the ships. 
I have told them of Lord Roberts. He 

48 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

loved our regiment. I have seen him halt 
the sun in the heavens, when the Afghans 
were waiting for darkness to ambush us in 
the gorges. I have seen Lord Roberts hold 
up his hand like this, and call down thunder 
and lightning and rain till his enemies were 
paralyzed with fear, and he would capture 
them by thousands. Is it not so, Maharaj ?" 

I hesitated one small moment. "You 
have said it, Thakur Das," I answered. 

" 'Tis so indeed. Ah, sir, the world is 
very large and wonderful. You and I have 
seen it." 

He reached inside his quilted jacket and 
drew forth a little book, dirt-stained, thumb- 
marked, yet more precious than the gold of 
Ophir. A glance at it would show that it 
had been kept for years. 

"Huzur, my certificates. Will you gra- 
ciously read them and tell these what is 
written there." 

I opened the book. Kanhai had stopped 
fanning. Faded pages and faded writing 
were pasted in an old copybook. They were 
certificates of good character, good service, 
and good will that Sipahi Thakur Das had 

49 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

managed to secure from officers of his regi- 
ment — the Sixteenth Rajputs. There was 
also his honorable discharge. 

"But for my wound which took me to 
Peshawar, Lord Roberts would have given 
me one also," he added by way of apology 
as I closed the book. 

It was his day of triumph long awaited. 
Why should I lessen the luster of it, or 
deprive this village Caesar of his crown? 
The simple crowd came closer. 

"Men of Tilaspur, I have read these 
certificates written by great officers of the 
British Raj — majors, captains, and lieu- 
tenants, men who know and understand the 
world. They portray my friend here, 
Thakur Das" (he was standing to attention 
as on a dress parade), "as a man highly re- 
spected by all who know him, a brave and 
loyal soldier of the great Queen-Empress. 
He has distinguished himself in every cam- 
paign and earned the gratitude of the Raj. 
In his retirement and old age he is worthy 
of your obedience, love, and reverence. 
And you, Kanhai Singh, be a blessing to 
your father in his last days." 

50 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

As I spoke I saw another soldier, small 
but straight, standing to attention with a 
palm-leaf fan. 

That night in the quiet mango grove 
where my tent was pitched I sat down to 
Write. In the near distance the village had 
already sunk to rest. Suddenly upon the 
mango leaves beyond me appeared the 
shadows of three heads, followed by a quiet 
cough. I turned my head, feigning sur- 
prise: 

"Well, Kanhai Singh, who are these you 
have brought with you? 

"Maharaj, this is Daulat Ram, the son 
of the lumhardar. He is betrothed to my 
little sister, and is my brother. This is 
Baldeo, a hhangi, an outcaste and a Chris- 
tian. My father does not know we play 
with him, but he can read, Maharaj, and 
he reads to us about the great world beyond 
out of his Second Reader. And so we let 
him play with us, sometimes, when the dot 
field yonder is the world and we go to see 
its sights. He must stay far behind when 
we attack the Afghans, lest perchance he 
should be wounded, and we should have to 

51 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

bring him in." A shiver ran through his 
frame. 

"You are cold, Kanhai, and the evening 
is warm — " 

"No, your Presence, I was thinking of 
the beating our fathers would give us if we 
carried Baldeo in. Yonder, Sahib" — he was 
gathering confidence with every moment 
and unburdening his little heart — "yonder 
on that mound near that old well Lord 
Roberts sits and watches us attack. O 
Sahib, just three days ago Lord Roberts 
with his own hand pinned a medal on me 
here," and he touched his breast. 

I laughed. "How could he do that, 
Kanhai, when you wear no shirt or coat?" 

My laugh hurt him and he wilted like a 
sensitive plant. 

"I do see it now, Kanhai. You must have 
been a very brave soldier and done a marvel- 
ous deed to have earned such honor." 

"Yes, Sahib, I killed three thousand 
Afghans in one hour, and Lord Roberts 
said 'twas well done. He had been watch- 
ing me, you see. Sahib, watching all the 
time. Maharaj," and the boy sat down at 

62 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

my feet, innocence and boldness combined. 
"Will you take me with you into the great 
world?" His eyes, his whole face, pleaded 
with his words. 

"No, Kanhai, you are but a boy now. 
You must grow tall and strong. You must 
tend your father too, you know." 

"Yes, Sahib," and he lowered his voice, 
"but my heart here tells me the Afghans 
will be all gone before I grow big, Lord 
Roberts may be dead, and where then shall 
my medals come from?" 

"There will be plenty of Afghans left, 
my boy, and plenty of medals too. But 
they are given only to the truthful and 
obedient. Now you may go, all three of 

you." 

He half rose, but bent again, and touched 
my shoe with his brown forehead: 

"Maharaj, may I speak? May I utter 
one request." His black eyes were pouring 
forth the intensities within; from their 
craters the deep fires below leaped out. 

"What is it, Kanhai? I will do anything 
that is good for you, my son." 

"A certificate," he whispered. 

53 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"Of course," I answered, and I wrote: 
"This is to certify that Kanhai Singh, son 
of Thakur Das, is a brave lad, honest and 
obedient. He will some day, I doubt not, 
be a great and good man." 

He held out his hand for the folded 
paper, and could not keep back the laughter. 
He held the priceless document close against 
his heart, and bowed to the earth once more. 

"Where will you keep it, Kanhai?" I 
dared not risk another jest about that httle 
brown body. 

"In the inner band of my green cap that 
I wear when I go to the fairs. No one will 
know that I keep it there, Maharaj." 

He was gone and I turned again to my 
letter: "Even these little villages of India 
are touched by the movements of the world. 
There is no sight more interesting than to 
watch the iSrst ripples of our world-civiliza- 
tion striking these quiet shores." 

All this was thirteen years ago. Lying 
undisturbed it had grown dusty in the 
pigeon-holes of memory. It would be lying 
so yet but for an accident. 

64 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

I had missed my train at a wayside sta- 
tion. In my impatience I paced the 
graveled platform. A train from the south 
came slowly in and halted. Suddenly I was 
aroused with curiosity. 

"Babu, what train is this, all third-class 
carriages, and guarded with soldiers?" 

"Sir, it is a train of wounded returning 
to their homes," answered the station 
master. 

The doors opened and eleven men were 
lifted out by gentle hands and deposited 
on the station platform. Some were lying 
on light stretchers, others were sitting up, 
one or two could even stand. 

In far-off India the wreckage of the 
storm in Flanders! It seemed unreal, un- 
true. No quarrel of theirs, but theirs the 
sightless eyes, the amputated hmbs, the torn 
features, the shattered frames. These were 
the hopelessly mangled — ^the ashes of the 
furnace. 

They laid the last one taken out near 
my feet. It was not till the train pulled 
out that I heard him speaking to another: 

"The long journey is all but over. Home, 

55 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

Shankar, home! Bear up, brother! What 
honor they will give us in our villages ! And 
when our medals come — ah then — " 

I looked at the man who had spoken; 
the voice sounded strangely familiar. The 
man was sitting on his stretcher, sergeant's 
stripes on his left sleeve. I could not see 
the face under the large khaki turban. He 
was speaking again as I stepped around to 
a place more advantageous: 

"Eh, Dilawar Singh, why such moaning? 
Think you that you are the only man 
wounded that you act the woman? Shankar 
here is torn far worse than you. He lies 
quiet when he is not laughing." 

I was standing now behind Dilawar 
Singh. The sergeant raised his eyes to me. 
A moment of perplexity — then the flash of 
mutual recognition. I saw my village lad 
of years gone by. 

"O Sahib, my Sahib," he cried in joy. 
"Do I see you once more in a dream, as I 
have seen you so often, or is it yourself 
indeed?" 

I rushed to him and kneeling took his 
hand: 

56 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

"Kanhai Singh, my son, you are wounded. 
Tell me how badly." 

"It is nothing, Sahib, nothing. Just 
enough to keep me from my regiment and 
from France." There was the same in- 
tensity in his look, and the same expression 
of high resolve. My cowherd had but be- 
come a man. 

"He is wounded worse than any of us," 
spoke the soldier lying next him. 

"It is untrue. Sahib. I can sit up, you 
see. Shankar here will never sit again." 

"Tell me how it happened, Kanhai Singh" 
— but the attendants had now arrived and 
were lifting his stretcher. 

"If you will come with me a little way 
in the bailij, Sahib, I will tell you all. But 
that is asking much." 

"Not too much," I answered, and fol- 
lowed him to the waiting oxcart that was 
to take him to his village. "I will go with 
you to your home. Is your father yet 
alive?" 

"Still living. Sahib, but very old. When 
he heard that war had broken out and that 
my regiment was going he was bent on re- 

57 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

enlisting. That could not be of course, but 
he came to see me off, and blessed me as a 
soldier of the Raj." 

On that journey I heard the story in all 
its details from the lips of the wounded 
man: 

"We began intrenching under fire. 
Sahib. The men were unused to it. They 
were like little children when the monsoon 
breaks and the thunder-claps are near. So 
many fell. I kept thinking of my father 
and Lord Roberts. So I kept our company 
to its task. For that they gav^e me this" 
— and he pointed to his sergeant's stripes. 
Then followed many a story of camp and 
trench. He drew near to the end: 

"One day at Shahvanshi [Givenchy], 
Sahib — I cannot get those French names 
well — I received this wound. 'Tis well it is 
no worse. We were crowded in our trenches 
to repel an attack. How little we suspected 
they were mined. Suddenly the Germans 
exploded them. I can remember the noise. 
I tried to rise, to hold our line, but it grew 
so dark I coidd not see. Some one fell upon 
me. The rest I have forgotten." 

58 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

Down went the sun, a ball of fire. It 
would soon be dark. For a long time now 
we had been silent, each thinking his own 
thoughts, each dreading what lay ahead. 
Finally he broke the silence : 

"Yonder behind those babool trees lies 
our little village. From France to Tilas- 
pur — 'tis a long and painful journey, 
Sahib." 

"Yes, see the boys of your village. You 
will know them. Even so you met me years 
ago." 

"Kanhai Singh has come back! Kanhai 
Singh has come back! And an English 
Sahib is with him." 

Back to the village the cry was carried 
by a score of boyish voices. The sound 
swept through the village. They ran to- 
gether from all its moliullas. The men and 
women returning from the fields hastened 
their steps, wondering what the shouting 
was about. Perhaps some highway robbers 
had been caught. Perhaps some quarrel had 
occurred and bamboo lathis were raining 
down on naked heads. Children in troops 
formed the advance guard, rushing out. Be- 

59 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

hind them hurried the men, bewildered and 
questioning. The women ran as fast as 
the jewehy on their ankles and the babies 
on their hips would allow, peeping all the 
while from close-drawn chadars. The 
crowd surrounded us. Kanhai Singh 
greeted them cheerily. 

Down the road came Thakur Das, an old 
man now. He had stopped to pin on his 
medals. Perplexity was written on his face. 

Again the military salute and the word 
of welcome. Then the eager searching of 
the father's eye: 

"Leap down, Kanhai Singh! How is it 
you sit up there when the Maharaj is down 
and on his feet? Have you forgotten your 
manners, boy?" 

"Let him rest. Your son is wounded, 
Thakur Das. Order a hhatiya and take him 
down tenderly." 

The father's eyes narrowed as he renewed 
the search. His son looked sound enough 
sitting covered by the rrmai. 

"Where did the ball take you, my son? 
All soldiers are wounded at some time. I 
too bear my scars." 

60 



FOR THE BRITISH RAJ 

The hhatiya had come, and we lifted him 
gently from the oxcart. The movement un- 
did the razaij, and for one moment uncov- 
ered the hmbs. The father's quick eye 
caught their message. 

^'Hael HaeT he screamed, and threw 
his arm before his eyes, as if the sight had 
bhnded him. "He will never walk again. 
Hae! Hae! Both gone! Both gone! My 
son! My only son! 

The wailing was caught up by the gath- 
ered crowd and the little village gave itself 
unrestrainedly to sorrow. Kanhai Singh 
and I alone were quiet. I turned to Thakur 
Das: 

"Thakur Das, you are a soldier and 
a veteran, as well as a father. You can be 
steady under fire, and you can be steady 
under affliction. You are a hero and have 
been honored — your son is a hero too, and 
must be honored in a way more fitting. 
What welcome is this to give him who has 
given his strength in the service of the Raj ?" 

The father quieted his sobs, but still 
looked the picture of unutterable woe. 

"Father" (the voice was very steady), 

61 



INDIA, BELOVED OP HEAVEN 

"I bring to you the personal greetings and 
salaams of Lord Roberts. I saw him with 
these eyes of mine and heard his voice. He 
inspected our regiment five weeks before I 
was wounded, and asked if the sons of any 
of his veterans were in the ranks. I stepped 
forward. He came and spoke to me, and 
bade me carry to you his greetings. I have 
done so." 

Thakur Das had heard with head bowed 
low. He raised himself to his full height. 

"Son, you have paid lightly for this 
honor. Let me hear no sigh of regret pass 
your lips. The village shall know of it." 

Then turning to the crowd he shouted, his 
voice stern, but trembling with emotion: 
"Silence! Bid this foolish wailing cease! 
Is this our answer to Lord Roberts' greet- 
ing?" 

As they bore him to his wife and to his 
mother, I overheard their conversation: 

"Kanhai, you and I now understand how 
all things are. We know the world." 

"We have seen the world, my father." 



6? 



IV 

THE TIGER AND THE LAMB 

/^NE afternoon I was sitting in the home 
^-^ of Sister Martha in the httle Indian 
village of Keela Karanthai. The reason we 
called her Martha was that whenever the 
pastor came to that village she was always 
so busy getting dinner for the pastor that 
she could not get out to the morning serv- 
ice, and so when I baptized her "Martha" 
the whole congregation smiled. We have 
to change their names in many cases because 
the old names are associated with odious 
aspects of heathenism. 

In one corner of the little house the cattle 
were tied, munching away at their stalks of 
millet fodder. Sister Martha was cooking 
in another corner, and a number of the mem- 
bers of the congregation were seated around 
me on the floor, listening to my stories about 
Christ and about America, until I got tired 
of talking and excused myself on the 

63 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

ground that I had to write some letters. So 
I took out my fountain pen and began to 
write. 

They watched in silence for some time, 
and then one nudged another and said in a 
whisper, "Appa, where does he get that 
ink?" 

The other answered: "That isn't ink. 
That is a pencil." 

But the first insisted, "It is ink; I can 
see it glisten." 

Then the first said: "Haven't you any 
manners ? Don't bother the missionary. He 
wants to write. Let him alone." 

And I thought, "If they have too much 
politeness to ask me where I get the ink 
from a fountain pen, I will just let them be 
polite," and went on writing. 

Very soon I found that they were far 
more polite than I, for I heard them saying, 
"That man is going to the city and will re- 
turn again soon," and I butted right into 
their conversation and asked, "What man?" 

In response they covered their mouths 
with their hands, and one answered, "Sh! 
— you must not speak his name!" 

fi4 



THE TIGER AND THE LAMB 

"But," said I, "how can I speak his name 
if you do not tell me his name?" 

Seeing my lack of manners, they took me 
by the hand and led me clear outside of the 
village. Nobody tells secrets inside of an 
Indian village, for the houses are jammed 
so close together that what you say in this 
house can be heard in the third house away, 
so they always take people outside the vil- 
lage to talk secrets. 

When we got some distance away from 
town, under a spreading banyan tree, they 
looked around for possible eavesdroppers, 
and seeing none, Channiah said in a whisper, 
"lya, his name is Pakkia Nathan!" 

"Well," said I, "that is very interesting." 

"Yes," he answered, "he is a very danger- 
ous man." 

Another added, "lya, he has ten sons 
bigger than himself, and he is a tremendous 
big fellow with a chest as big as a barrel 
and great big fists." 

From consequent remarks I gathered 
that they were approximately the size of 
hams. 

"Sir," said another, "they are the terror 

65 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

of the whole coniiniinity and many villages 
near here. We never even mention their 
names, for we fear they will burn our houses 
down as they have burned many houses 
down before this. They have committed all 
manner of crimes, and these eleven are just 
the nucleus of the gang of scoundrels that 
terrorize the country." 

Now, the more they told me about Pakkia 
Nathan, the more certain I felt that I did 
not wish to have anything to do with him 
or any member of his family. I regarded 
them as undesirable acquaintances for any 
Methodist minister, even though only a mis- 
sionary. 

The next morning I was leaving the vil- 
lage, and although I had spoken late the 
night before, nearly the whole congregation 
came along to say good-by. There is an 
etiquette which prevails in South India, and 
in following it, I generally allow them all 
to come several blocks distance outside the 
village, and then, turning around and bow- 
ing very low, say, "Salaam." The whole 
congregation says, "Salaam," and remains 
standing there. The missionary walks a 

66 



THE TIGER AND THE LAMB 

few paces away and again turns toward the 
waiting people and says, "Salaam," and the 
congregation again says, "Salaam," and 
after repeating this ceremony five or six 
times, it is quite fitting for the missionary 
to enter his oxcart and drive away. 

Brother Cook, of our South India Con- 
ference, says that the Indian oxcart greatly 
resembles the American "Ford." The 
minor differences, he says, are entirely lost 
in the striking similarities. The oxcart has 
only two cylinders, but you seize both these 
cylinders by the tail, and crank the tails. 
By continual cranking you can secure a 
speed of three miles an hour, but that is the 
speed limit. When you cease cranking, 
they drop back to two miles, which is very 
slow for an American. 

I was just about to enter this machine and 
speed away at three miles an hour when I 
saw around the end of the cart a very hearty- 
looking man approaching, and I knew at 
once that it was Pakkia Nathan, and I did 
not want to see him or speak with him at all. 
Just at that moment, however, it seemed to 
me that the Lord said very clearly, "Tell 

67 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

Pakkia Nathan that unless he repents of his 
sins he will be lost forever." 

My knees began to knock together and 
my heart thumped in a most disagreeable 
manner. The congregation had disappeared 
from behind me, but I learned long ago not 
to fear any man so much as God, and I 
walked up to Pakkia Nathan and said to 
him, "Pakkia Nathan, if all that I hear 
about you is true, and you do not repent of 
your many great crimes, God will send you 
to hell." 

Natives of India have very clear notions 
about hell. You need not prove its exist- 
ence by philosophy or theology, for they be- 
lieve in a hell as thoroughly as any that 
Dante ever imagined and depicted; and I 
looked Pakkia Nathan over as I spoke, 
noted his fine figure, his splendid bearing, 
his muscles chiseled like those of a Hercules, 
though he was not nearly so large as I had 
expected; and I longed for his conversion 
and salvation. I said, "I don't want you to 
be lost, Pakkia Nathan, and I am going to 
pray for you. Come along with me while 
I pray for you." 

68- 



THE TIGER AND THE LAMB 

Then I seated myself in the oxcart and 
he held the side of it and leaned over while 
I prayed: "O God, this man has committed 
every crime that the world knows anything 
about, and his hands are stained with his 
iniquities, and his heart is black with his 
sins. Hear my prayer, for Jesus' sake, and 
touch his wicked heart, and wash him in the 
blood of the Lamb." 

Now, while I was talking with God about 
him, I almost forgot how near he was to 
me, and when I looked up, was startled to 
see him gazing intently into my eyes. 

"Go away," he said, "and come back 
again." 

And I went. I did not want to argue 
with Pakkia Nathan. 

It was two weeks or more before I got 
back to Keela Karanthai, and as I drew 
near the village, I saw Pakkia Nathan com- 
ing out to meet me. Though he was large 
and muscular, he had the litheness and grace 
that you see in the tiger, a magnificent com- 
bination of power and ease of motion, and 
I got out of my oxcart to meet him. He 
was running till he halted before me. 

69 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"Sir, I have been thinking of what you 
said," he cried. 

I thought, "Surely I am in for trouble 
now." 

"And I have decided," he continued, "to 
become a Christian." 

If some old tiger had walked out of the 
jungle and said, "I have decided to become 
an ox. Kindly put a yoke on my neck and 
hitch me up to a plow," I should have been 
no more surprised. 

"Pakkia Nathan, do you mean it?" 

"Yes," he answered. "I have been talking 
with the native pastor in the village, and I 
have given my heart to Christ, and he has 
forgiven me my sins." 

And what he said was true. God had 
forgiven him his sins and cleansed him 
from them, and given him the gift of the 
Spirit. We took him into the church, and 
he is the leader of our Board of Stewards 
in that village to this day. 

A few weeks later, on the day I received 
him into the church, he asked me to wait a 
few minutes and brought his ten sons whom 
he placed before me. 

70 



THE TIGER AND THE LAMB 

"What do they want?" I asked, for those 
big black fellows looked very much hke a 
thunder cloud. 

"They all wish to be Christians too," said 
he. We took them all in, and the family of 
Pakkia Nathan, with his wife and his sons 
and their wives, and their children, came to 
over forty, and became a very important ad- 
dition to the church in that village. 

A few weeks later I came to the village 
and spent the Sabbath there. After preach- 
ing in the morning I wished to go to a near- 
by village, Vembur, and preach there in the 
afternoon, and suggested to Pakkia Nathan 
that I wished him to come along too. He 
said he would be glad to come, if I would 
only wait a little while, and I consented. 

Back he came with his ten big sons, and I 
asked him, "What do they want now?" 

"Sir," he said with a smile, "they want to 
go along and preach too." 

As we drew near Vembur the people of 
the village saw us coming and knew us from 
afar. How often we suffer by keeping bad 
company! They knew Pakkia Nathan and 
all his gang, or thought they did, and when 

71 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

we got into Vembur there was no one to 
preach to. They had all gone into their 
houses and locked the doors, and even the 
windows were barred. There was not one 
movable object on the street, except an ox- 
cart and the oxen were not hitched to that 
or it also would have been taken away. 

When I saw the emptiness, I said, "Pak- 
kia Nathan, you have scared them all away. 
You will have to get them back. Sing for 
them, Pakkia Nathan." 

Now you can have no conception of the 
way he sang unless you can conceive of a 
great pipe organ singing words instead of 
the bare notes. Out of his deep chest, with 
a mighty voice, he sang one of our simple 
Christian lyrics set to a tune that all South 
India knows: 

"Praise Jesus, O my soul! 
The spotless Son of God ! 
Who came from heaven and earth 
To save us from our sins ! 
Praise Jesus, only 
Jesus, O my soul!" 

He had hardly finished the first stanza 
when the windows were unbarred and folks 

72 



THE TIGER AND THE LAMB 

were looking out, and before he had ceased 
singing, the doors were opened wide and the 
crooked narrow streets were jammed full of 
people. As I looked over the crowd I said, 
"Pakkia Nathan, get up on the wagon, and 
preach to them," and he did. 

"O you people," he said in a musical voice 
that was almost singing, "you were afraid 
of me. You were afraid of my big sons. 
You needn't be afraid of us any more. We 
will not harm you any more. We will try 
to do good now instead of evil, for God* has 
taken away the fierce tiger-hearts and given 
us all the hearts of little lambs. We will 
try to make up for our wickedness of the 
past, for Jesus has saved us." 

He and his sons earn their living now by 
honest toil, and are greatly respected, and 
whenever I want to start a revival among 
people of his caste in some new heathen vil- 
lage, I get him to take one of his sons and go 
there for a few days. The revival always 
starts when he tells how his tiger-heart was 
changed. 



73 



A MISSION SCHOOL ROMANCE 

rilHE young Wellesley graduate had been 
-*■ in India just three years, and found 
herself now in charge of the American Mis- 
sion High School at Walayatpur. She was 
seated in the veranda of the bungalow after 
her early morning chhoti haziri of tea and 
toast. School had just closed for the truly 
hot weather (170^ in the sun). It was the 
first of May, and the young lady from 
Wellesley found her thoughts about evenly 
divided between the May Days of old, when 
she had been "queen," and the girls of her 
graduating class whose "futures" now pre- 
sented a present problem. 

A slight shuffling of feet — repeated to at- 
tract attention — brought her out of her 
thoughts. She turned her head and saw 
Shanti Masih, one of her "fair girl gradu- 
ates." The girl was the brightest and most 

74 



A MISSION SCHOOL ROMANCE 

attractive in her class — one of the finest the 
school had ever known. 

"Well, Shanti, I am still rejoicing in your 
great success in the government examina- 
tion. First in the provinces out of seventeen 
hundred candidates — and ahead of all the 
boys! It's just lovely! You ought to be in 
Wellesley." 

"Miss Sahiba, that is in line with what I 
have come to talk over with you. I want to 
go on, and be somebody — do something. 
We Indian women can, and I'm so glad that 
our day is at last dawning." 

"So you don't wish to get married, like 
Piyari, and Nirmalini, and others of your 
class?" 

"No, Miss Sahiba, I want to study some 
more." 

And so they talked, and it was settled that 
Shanti should take her college course at the 
Isabella Thoburn College at Lucknow, and 
then perhaps go to America for a Ph.D. 

"What a pity," thought the young mis- 
sionary from the West, "that Shanti has 
neither father nor mother to share in our re- 
joicing over her success! But, then, she's 

75 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

a Christian, and they were Hindus. They 
must have perished in the great famine." 

Just then a man was seen entering the 
mission compound. As he came closer the 
missionary noted that he was a hunchback. 
He made straight for the veranda, and when 
he stopped at the foot of the steps, the mis- 
sionary saw that his face was scarred by 
deep marks of smallpox, and that he was 
very dirty, though apparently not of the 
lowest caste of Hindus. He appeared to 
be about fifty years old. Looking at the 
missionary, he said : 

"I have come for my wife." 

"For your wife!" exclaimed the mission- 
ary. "We do not keep people's wives 
around here — this is a girls' school." 

"I know that," said he. "I was told by 
the lawyer that she was in this school. He 
said you would have to give her to me." 

"We give you a wife? Never!" 

"If not," said the man, strangely confi- 
dent, "then I'll take her!" 

He seated himself, unbidden, on the top 
step of the veranda, and took out from the 
inner folds of his clothes several papers 

76 



A MISSION SCHOOL ROMANCE 

wrapped in a greasy, smoky, fly-specked 
piece of oilcloth. With these before him, he 
said : 

"I have here the legal papers, signed and 
properly attested, showing that I was be- 
trothed according to our Hindu rites to 
Mohini Sarkar twelve years ago. The fam- 
ine several years ago separated me from the 
girl's family, but almost as by chance I got 
trace of an uncle of the girl and have finally 
learned that the girl was left here by her 
parents during the famine and is now known 
as Shanti Masih." 

The hunchback looked at the missionary 
to note the effect of his words. The lady sat 
and stared, as if she had lost the power of 
speech. It was her own dear Shanti that 
this unsightly creature was demanding! 
Married twelve years ago, when she was only 
six! 

Finally she summoned the mali (gar- 
dener) , who was leading the oxen to the well 
to draw water, and told him to go and call 
the Christian munshi who gave her her daily 
lesson in the vernacular. 

When the munshi appeared, the mission- 

77 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

ary asked him to read aloud the documents, 
and as he did so her heart sank. There 
seemed to be no question as to the pm-port 
of the papers. 

"Are those papers genuine, Munshiji?" 
asked the missionary. 

"There is no doubt about it," he rephed 
in Enghsh. "They bear the proper seals 
and stamps." 

"Thank you," she said. "I don't need to 
trouble you further." 

When the munshi was gone, the mission- 
ary said to the beggar: "I must talk with 
our missionaries about this. You may call 
again at three o'clock this afternoon." 

"May I not see the girl now?" he asked. 

"No," came the firm reply, as the door 
closed and he was left on the veranda. 

The missionary did some rapid thinking; 
then she wrote and sent a note to the princi- 
pal of the high school for young men, asking 
him to come over and take tiffin at two 
o'clock instead of dinner at seven-thirty, as 
there was a question of great importance to 
discuss. 

Then she tried to read, but could not keep 

78 



A MISSION SCHOOL ROMANCE 

her mind on the subject. At the top of each 
page was the sweet face of Shanti, and at 
the bottom, always, the unsightly figure of 
the hunchback. Under the spur of her emo- 
tion she was able to dash off some appeaUng 
letters to her patrons. 

One thing she did not do — and that was 
to call in Shanti to talk it over. How could 
she ever do that ! 

Just at ten o'clock, as breakfast had been 
announced, a rumble of wheels was followed 
by a call — "Any Americans around here?" 

The missionary stepped out on to the 
front veranda to find a middle-aged man, 
with a smiling face, looking out at the door 
of the theha gari (hackney carriage). She 
invited him in, introducing him to her three 
assistant teachers who had already answered 
the call to breakfast. 

The curry and rice was made to cover five 
plates instead of four, some more tamarind 
juice was added to the large water jug, and 
the mali was told to bring in another papaya 
from the tree near the well. The breakfast 
was a success. 

The American visitor — a Christian busi- 

79 



INDIA, BELOVED OP HEAVEN 

ness man out to appraise the value of mis- 
sionary work, proved to be excellent com- 
pany. He liked the Indian teachers, and 
did not find them as shy as he had antici- 
pated! One thing he took care to do — to 
announce that he had come to see things, 
but not to give inoney! 

The school was inspected, and then he 
drove on to see the great Hindu temple and 
the unusually fine bazaar. He was asked 
to return at two o'clock and take tiffin, when 
the other missionary would be present. 

The tiffin table was surrounded at two- 
thirty, and the hostess then introduced the 
subject of the hunchback. The globe-trot- 
ter was intensely interested. The mission- 
ary principal of the boys' school looked wor- 
ried. The Indian teachers showed the deep- 
est pain and concern on their faces. All 
agreed that if the papers were genuine, there 
seemed little hope for poor Shanti. It was 
explained to the gentleman from America 
that the marriage laws of both Hindus and 
Mohammedans were absolutely valid in 
British courts of justice. 

Three o'clock had struck when the kliid- 

80 



A MISSION SCHOOL ROMANCE 

matgar (table servant) announced that a 
cripple beggar was demanding to see the 
Miss Sahiba. The poor missionary looked 
white and scared, and very tired. 

The principal of the boys' school left the 
room, saying he would have a talk with the 
hunchback. 

The man from America asked to see 
Shanti, his curiosity and sympathy having 
been aroused by all he had heard. 

In a short time the principal returned, 
saying that it was a hopeless case — the 
hunchback was determined to follow up his 
legal rights. 

It was then that the stranger from Amer- 
ica proposed that they all go out on to the 
veranda and see the hunchback. For him- 
self, he wished to say something to the beg- 
gar, and he would like Shanti to be his in- 
terpreter. 

The missionary stepped swiftly to his 
side, and whispered, 

"Don't tell her!" 

On the veranda the American visitor, 
through Shanti's able interjiretation, got out 
of the hunchback many details of his past 

81 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

life, even getting him to disclose his sordid 
plans for the woman who might become his 
wife. It was a shocking revelation, to all 
except Shanti herself, as to what awaited 
the fairest product of the mission school. 

Then the hunchback cut things short by 
producing the papers, saying: "I demand 
my rights! Where is the girl?" 

It was a tense moment. Every counte- 
nance was worth studying. The mission- 
ary's face was pale with dread, and her eyes 
were fixed on Shanti. The principal's eyes 
blazed, and as he looked at the hunchback 
there took shape a grim determination to 
fight this thing to the finish. One assistant 
teacher sank into a chair, her face buried in 
her hands, while the two others drew close 
to Shanti, as if to protect her. Shanti her- 
self could not understand what was happen- 
ing, and looked in perplexity from one to 
another. The hunchback's look was bold, 
and with each added second of silence he was 
gaining confidence, yet there lurked in his 
eyes a fear lest by some trick he should yet 
lose his rights. The visitor's face was calm 
and confident. 

82 



A MISSION SCHOOL ROMANCE 

It was the stranger from America who 
broke the silence, saying, "Now, ladies and 
gentlemen, watch a real American 'disap- 
pearing trick,' whereby the hunchback is 
made to vanish into thin air." 

His levity was not appreciated. 

"Ask this miserable creature, Miss 
Shanti," continued he, "how much money a 
wife would be worth to him." 

The hunchback looked perplexed, as 
Shanti interpreted. "Ask him how many 
rupees he would be willing to take instead 
of a wife." 

Light began to dawn on the entire group, 
including the hunchback. He had heard a 
good deal of America, that land of wealth, 
where lakhpatis (millionaires) hved in every 
town, and he began to do some figuring. 

"Five rupees a month," he said to him- 
self — "that would make sixty rupees a year, 
a comfortable income; and for ten years — 
that's six hundred rupees." He had made 
a great flight of imagination and risen to 
a dizzy height of mathematics! He an- 
nounced: "She is worth six hundred rupees 
to me. I ask six hundred." 

§3 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

The visitor pulled out his American 
pocketbook. 

"Put down," said he through his young 
interpreter, "your legal papers." 

The hunchback put them on the veranda, 
within easy reach of himself. 

"Now," said the visitor, "I put down six 
hundred rupees beside them," and he put 
down six crisp Government of India notes, 
each for one hundred rupees. Then he 
went on, looking fixedly at the hunchback, 
as the surprised Shanti translated his words ; 

"You take this six hundred rupees, leave 
your marriage papers on the veranda, and 
go out at that gate — never to show your face 
here again!" 

The hunchback did not budge, but covered 
his papers with his hand. 

"I demand money,'' he said. 

"What!" exclaimed the visitor, "is he not 
satisfied with the bargain?" 

The group on the veranda smiled, while 
the principal said, "Yours is paper money; 
he asks for silver." 

The missionary, her face flushed with 
gratitude as she looked at her American 

84 




'Ask this miserable creature how much money a wife 
would be worth to him" 



A MISSION SCHOOL ROMANCE 

visitor, started for the door, saying: "I can 
manage it. The salary for the school staff 
has just come to-day from the bank. It is 
in silver." 

She ran to the safe, and a moment later 
came out with a crocheted bag made of 
strong white cotton cord. From it were 
taken six hundred silver rupees, and counted 
out on the veranda. 

The hunchback's eyes ghstened. The 
visitor shoved the six piles over toward him. 

"Now you take it — and get!" he ex- 
claimed. 

"Get what?" inquired Shanti, puzzled, 
just how to translate the expression. 

"Get out!" said he with real emphasis. 

The hunchback gathered up the coins. 
He rolled them in a long wad, and, with the 
extra folds of his dhoti (long loin cloth), 
bound them around his waist. Then he 
made a salaam that took in the entire group 
on the veranda, and was gone. 

As he disappeared through the gateway 
the American visitor thanked Miss Shanti 
for her excellent service as interpreter, who 
laughingly replied — 

85 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"The hunchback really disappeared!" 
When the American globe-trotter left 
that night after a genuine Indian pilau 
dinner, he said to the missionary: "Don't 
tell Shanti! That pleasure I reserve for 
myself. I'll tell her — in America, when she 
comes to get her Ph.D." 

As he settled himself in the carriage, he 
said aloud to himself, "Never spent two hun- 
dred dollars to better advantage in my 
hfe!" 




86 



VI 

WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

I. The Village 

"rilHE company is starting already and 
-■■ the leading oxcarts are moving out of 
the village. Why dost thou tarry, Chajju, 
my son? The holy Mother Ganga^ is far 
from here ; wouldst thou take the long j our- 
ney alone? I fear for the many dakus^ 
along the way, who handle the lonely pil- 
grim as the hawk handles the chick. Go 
with thy fellow villagers and give thy 
mother's heart sweet peace." 

Chajju bent his head and looked long at 
the ground before he made reply: "I am 
not worthy, my mother, to look with these 
sinful eyes of mine upon holy Ganga, nor 
to bathe in her sacred waters. Did not our 
neighbor, Mangal Sain, contract the leprosy 
by angering the fair goddess? Did not the 
sore eyes of Jitu develop into blindness, all 

^ The River Ganges. * Robbers. 

87 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

because he would have them healed in Ganga 
water, knowing not how great the sin that 
sat upon him? Ganga smote him for his 
boldness. No, mother, ask me not to go this 




year on pilgrimage to the bathing teohar} 
For many months I have sinned exceedingly 
and my burden of guilt presses me down. 
It presses me down, mother, till my heart 



* Festival. 



88 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

is bent with the load, and I stagger along. 
I would atone by offerings at our village 
temple. Let Mahadev^ forgive me, ere, as 
a pilgrim at the river, I pray the prayers 
of the pious and pour out holy libations, 
praising the name of Ganga." 

"My son, thy words are not the words of 
comfort. How can I wait another year. 
Ere Mahadev forgive thy sin, thy mother 
may be far hence. I follow thy father on 
the long pilgrimage of Awagawan.^ My 
heart too is heavy, loiowing not what hes 
ahead. Speak not to me of the weight of 
guilt. Guilt is but clay to carry where 
dread is stone. Go name my name to 
Mother Ganga, and bid her be gracious to 
me on my long journey. Bring me the 
sacred water that I may offer it to Mahadev, 
and have strong protection from the dakus 
that infest the roads of eternity. O son, ere 
thou bear my ashes to the sacred river, bear 
my heart thither. Go and Ganga will not 
smite thee, for thy mother's sake! Ganga 
is woman, and Ganga understands." 

Chajju walked toward the entrance of 

* The Great God (Siva). ^ Transmigration. 

89 



INDIA, BEL()Vi-:n OF iij:avi<:n 

tlie coiirtynrd, then tunicd Jind came back. 
"M oilier, 1 am still un|)ersiia(le(l. Thou 
shall have (iaii/;a water. Our I'ellow vil- 
Ia|»ers who ^o shnll hriti^ it to thee. My 
eousifi, thy nephew, shall speak oT thee to 
the goddess. Thy soul shall he at peace 
when it ^oes hence. . . . Why wouldst 
thou slay thy son, and drive him forth aliead 
of thee upon the lonely ways of death!" 'I'he 
^ods, () mother, are ([uick to destroy the 
nnholy. The gods fill heaven aiid earth; 
the gods create terror in man's heart. I 
know I shall he shiin for my |)resumptioii, 
or have some dread I'ul issue of my journey, 
lict my soul lirst he at peace; only thus can 
peace come to thee from me." 

His mother saidv to his I'eet, and covered 
Iier lace with her hands. "C'hajju, I see 
nothing hut darkness hei'ore me. I had 
hoped to have light ahead. As on the sacred 
waters the lamps go drifting to the sea., so 
I had hoped to lloat down the river of time 
with light burning in my heart. Hut thou 
hast blown it out. () son, I sit in darls.ness. 
Who is my nephew when thou art my son? 
Who will bring cond'ort when thou hast 

90 



wiii-:n 'nil': (ioDs aki: dyinc; 

Ijroijglit sorrows"' SIic looked up into Jiis 
face. "Wlicn 1 dandled Lhee a [)al)c in niy 
arms and nursed thee at tliis breast, tlien 
1 said, 'This is my Saviour. Throu^^h lliis 
man-child the woman in me will he re- 
deemed. My Av/rma' is /^ocxh The road ol' 
motherhood is rough and j>aird'ul, yet il' it 
he the motherhood ol' men, it hrings one to 
I'air cities. I shall he hiessed in him.' And 
so I sang thee happy songs and my heart 
overllowed with laughter. And so I praised 
the gods and taught thy hahy h'ps to praise 
tliem too. 'Great is Mahadev! (ireat is 
iranumani (.real; is (ianeshl' 1 can liear 
tliee yet speak thus in thy hahy prattle." 
She leaj)e(l to her feet and continued: "Am 
I undone by this very praise I taught thee if 
Have I so filled thy heart with fear that 
thou fearest to redeem thy mothei*^ line! 
line! the lot of woman is hard, so dependent 
on man is she! When man fails her, then 
is she ruined. This was my hour of hojx", 
Cliajju, hut thou hast daslied it to llu; 
ground. Dying in njy despair I shall he 
horn woman again, ever woman to the end 

91 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

of Awagawan.^ Never, never shall I find 
release — " 

She broke out in bitter weeping. Chajju 
laid his hand tenderly upon her shoulder: 
"My heart is crushed by thy sobs, my 
mother. Great are the gods, but great is a 
man's love for his mother. I obey thy word. 
For thee I risk the anger of holy Ganga. 
I go, mother. I shall confess at every shrine 
along the way, and give alms to every 
holy man I meet. Perchance at the end of 
the journey I shall have rid me of my load." 
He stood a moment looking off in deep 
thought, then his whole face lit up with his 
emotion: "And what if at the journey's end 
Mother Ganga should be pleased with me, 
and give me peace as well? O mother, with 
what adoration of her name I shall step into 
the sacred stream ! With what praise I shall 
lift the water in my ojiened palms and pour 
it forth an offering! With what prayer I 
shall dip beneath the wave till I am covered 
by her presence and altogether in her power ! 
Then shall I name thy name to her, and 
bring thee of her presence in this jar. . . . 

* Transmigration. 

92 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

Look: the oxcarts are not yet beyond the 
dal fields. I shall overtake them ere they 
reach the mango grove." 

II. The City 

In the street of an Indian city many were 
coming and going. Cheerful greetings of 
"Ram! Rdmr passed from lip to lip. The 
spirit of the teohar^ was abroad. Two young 
men easily recognized as students of the 
Government College met, seemingly by ap- 
pointment, at the crossing near the hanyas 
shop, and joined the stream of carts and 
people flowing toward the river. 

"A holiday, Hari Singh! Praise to the 
good God that made men Hindus, Moham- 
medans, and Christians, that we who study 
in the schools might have Hindu holidays 
and Mohammedan holidays and Christian 
holidays. If all were Hindus, then should 
we have to study so much the harder. Let 
us pray the gods to preserve all unbelievers." 

"Did I hear you speak of the gods, Basant 
Ram? Since when have you become so in- 

* Festival. 

93 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

terested in them? We are Aryas,^ you 
loiow — " 

"Not the gods, Hari Singh, but hoHdays, 
that is where my interest hes to-day. But 
as for tlie gods, they are but names for the 
One, the All-Supieme. I am Hindu and 
I am Arya. I have been to worship this 
morning, whieh you have not; so am I bet- 
ter Hindu than you. I shall be a holy one 
long before you are." 

Hari Singh laughed heartily and with 
folded hands bowed in moek adoration. 
"Holy indeed! I worship the feet of this 
Holy One! Worship in the morning and 
villainy all day. Sueh is your program. 
And now you go forth to enjoy the bathing 
festival, because there is pleasure in it, and 
yet in your heart there is despising of this 
superstitious folly. So does the Holy One 
offer the purchase money to Folly that he 
may wed his daughter Sport." 

"Why, what a muddy philosopher you are, 
Hari Singh! If you had been to worship 
this morning your brain would be more 
settled. You talk as if you were not headed 

* A Reform Sect in Hinduism, very strong in North India. 
94 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

for the river. Your brain seems traveling 
backward to the city to sit in pious medita- 
tion throughout this hohday, while your feet 
keep ever stepping forward with the crowds. 
Did we create this bathing festival? No. 




-Is. 



It has been given us and a holiday along 
with it. Let us enjoy life's gifts. Which 
is the wiser, Hari Singh — to despise a thing 
and yet enjoy it, or to despise a thing and 
lose some pleasure?" 

Hari Singh, still dissimulating humility, 
answered, softly: "I am no philosopher, 
Basant Ram, yet I take it. Holy One, that 

95 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

you would have me this day enjoy that 
which I despise. Doing this, shall I attain 
to wisdom?" 

Basant Ram laughed. "Hari Singh, 
sometimes I have great hopes for you. You 
are not so stupid as you seem. This must 
be a day of learning — call it not a holiday" 
— he heaved a sigh — "I must give my pre- 
cious time to teaching you a lesson. You 
must know that there are many things that 
may be despised and yet enjoyed." 

"And what are they, O Philosopher?" 

"The women at the river bank, the pre- 
cincts of the temple, the dice, and" — he 
looked around him as he spoke — "and these 
simpletons of the villages who throng the 
roads." 

A look of disgust came over the face of 
his companion. 

"And how will you enjoy these simple- 
tons who do nothing but kick up the dust as 
they move along and choke themselves and 
us with it? There is no enjoyment from 
such as these. They are choked with their 
own ignorance and superstition. I despise 
them." 

96 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

"Blind as ever, Hari Singh, you have 
yourself answered your own question. You 
will never pass the government examinations 
in spite of your long hours of study. One 
lobe of your brain is filled with deep knowl- 
edge of the sciences and the English classics, 
but the other, I weep to say it, is black with 
ignorance. One half of your mentality is 
kept in pardah} and never sees the world. 
The scales of your mind are uneven, Hari 
Singh, they do not weigh truth with any 
accuracy." 

"Basant Ram, your words are covered 
with the dust of these countless feet. 
Would that Mother Ganga would wash you 
too, though you believe not in her reputed 
efficacy." 

Basant Ram smiled again. "That is the 
point, Hari Singh. Let us enjoy the dust. 
'Quod erat demonstrandum f as we say in 
mathematics. Let us enjoy their ignorance 
and their crude faith in Ganga and the gods. 
Let us have sport with that which we de- 
spise. So may we be good Arya mission- 
aries, teaching the truth, and at the same 

* The veil, the seclusion of Indian women. 
97 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

time Slick some sweetness out of the holi- 
day. See here is a village company coming 
down the dirt road from the East. Look, 
ITari Singh, at the man who walks in front; 
some Buddhu or Chaj ju of a distant village. 
See how set his face, how rapt his look. 
He walks as in a dream. The vision of 
Mother Ganga is upon him. Poor fooll 
lie is our man. Let us tell him what 
Hindus of to-day should believe. Hari 
Singh, share your new learning with this 
village enthusiast and see the look on his 
face change. Lift him and dip him in the 
waters of knowledge and pour out libations 
to truth on his belialf. It will be good for 
him, for knowledge is cleansing, and it will 
furnish us entertainment till we reach the 
crowded river bank and find sport more ex- 
citing." 

Hari Singh caught his companion by the 
arm and shook him playfully as he replied: 
"Basant Ram, it would be well for these 
pilgrims that you get not too close to the 
water to-day, for at siglit of you Ganga 
would flow backward to the mountains 
whence she came." 

98 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

III. The Village Again 

Large is the debt of gratitude that India 
owes to November. May and June torment 
her with hot winds and scorching sunhght; 
July, August, and September drench her 
with rain ; October shakes her with ague and 
fever; but November hfts her up, puts 
strength into her hmbs, adorns her with rich 
garments, paints her dark eyehds, and sets 
her forth the fairest daughter of the East, 
ravishing man's eye with her beauty and 
comi)eUing his heart to love. 

It was a November evening when nine 
great oxcarts with large wooden wheels and 
bamboo frames, hemp -woven at sides and 
bottom, slowly made their way along the 
dirt road that leads to the village of Gurda- 
spur. They were filled with all the sundry 
belongings of men that go on pilgrimage. 
There were bedding for the oxen, cooking- 
vessels, cotton-quilts, grains and flour, 
hookah pipes and black tobacco, half -dressed 
children, and jars that hold the holy water 
of the river. The women rode and many of 
the men. Those that walked carried on 

99 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

their shoulders, as protection from the 
dakus, their bamboo lathis^ from which 
dangled their coarse brown shoes, for why 
should good leather be worn out unneces- 
sarily? They were rejoicing at their escape 
from the dangers of the way, and at their 
safe return, for yonder, less than half a hos 
away, lay their little village. 

"Look, brothers, our village has not suf- 
fered in our absence. The fields look fair 
as any we have seen. Mahadev has been 
compassionate. With offerings of flowers 
and rice and holy Ganga water shall we re- 
joice before his sacred ling am" 

"See," said another, "our friends have 
caught sight of us, and are hastening out 
with drum and cymbal to give us welcome. 
Now together let us shout, 'Ganga Ji ki 
jai!' (Praise to great Ganga!), so that 
they may hear us even at this distance. 
Chajju, do you lead us; your voice is strong. 
All together: 

"Ganga Ji ki jai! Ganga Ji ki jai!" 

The sound rolled out, sharp and clear, 
over the intervening fields and filled the 

» staffs. 

100 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

evening air. The cymbals and the drums in 
the distance beat out a faint reply. 

"Chaj ju, why did you not join. your shout 
to ours? It is a bad omen. Do you anger 
the goddess and spoil all the merit of our 
long pilgrimage? Have we tramped these 
weary miles that you might undo us at the 
home-coming?" 

"No, my brothers, I meant no harm to 
you. My heart was heavy. My lips would 
not frame the name of Ganga. Would you 
have me shout false praises?" 

"This speech is strange from you, Chaj ju. 
Have you taken the fever on the way?" 

"I have a fever indeed, brothers — a fever 
of the soul. My heart is burning up. I am 
parched within, and I shake as a child with 
ague." 

"What is fever that it should stop you in 
your service of the gods? Ganga will not 
accept this excuse of yours. Even the dying 
take the names of the gods." 

"Whose name, my brothers, do the gods 
take when they are dying? Tell me that." 

His fellow pilgrims looked one at the 
other as Chajju spoke; it was some time be- 

101 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

fore any one was bold enough to make reply. 

"^Vhat words are these, Chajjii? You 
are going mad. Have you the eurse of 
Cianga on you for your sins!* l^rotlicrs, let 
us keep our distanee from him lest we be 
smitten too. Alas that we bear home sueh 
sorrow! Life is indeed illusion. Our sor- 
row was joy but a moment ago." 

''lUit a moment ago, did you say? No, 
my brothers, long ages ago, as we ap- 
proaehed the river bank, joy perished in sor- 
row." 

Kunners from the welcoming group of vil- 
higers were now among the returning pil- 
grims and questions and answers ilew 
eagerl}' back and forth. Overhead the great 
bats fle^v in solemn array toward the dark- 
ness of the eastern sky. 

"Tlie news of the village? The daughter 
of Chiddhu is betrothed to the son of Jum- 
man ; Soma has lost his ox ; and the mother 
of Chajju lies siek to death." 

A form bounded from the earavaii of 
slow-moving oxcarts, down the rt)ad, past 
tlic group where drums and cymbals were 
making their noisy greeting, past the thorn- 

102 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

bushes in the lane that leads to the village, 
clown the narrow alleys to the riglit, and 
into a darkened eourtyard surrounded with 
mud walls. There it stopped. In the room 
beyond a little wiek was burning in must- 
ard oil in an earthen saueer; all else was in 
sliadow. The man outside looked and lis- 
tened. Some one was moaning piteously 
within : 

"Chaj ju, my son, may the gods speed thee 
on thy return. Haste thee, O haste thee, 
for I am going fast. My hands are weary 
with this hard holding on to life. It slips 
through these old and palsied fingers. How 
many kos art thou distant yet? . . . Me- 
thought I heard the sound of drums. Is it 
that he is coming? He is coming with 
Ganga's blessing. Then shall I fold my 
hands in peace, and breathe out as a child." 

"My mother 1" 

"Who spoke? It is Mahadev summoning 
me. O greatest of the gods, call me not 
forth till I have seen my child. He bears 
me a necessity for my journey. He will 
be here briefly. Be pitiful!" 

"My mother!" 

103 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"O Chajju, is it thy voice, my son, or an 
illusion of death?" 

"Mother, it is I. I would be with thee in 
this thy last hour. I am here. Let me sit 
and hold thy hand." 

He took her faded, feverish hands in his. 
She looked into his face with bm-ning eyes, 
as men look to their deliverer: 

"O Chajju, thou art just in time. Ma- 
hadev has been calHng. He had pity on 
me and gave me a moment more. Be quick, 
Chajju! It is but a moment I have. Give 
me Ganga's blessing; anoint my head and 
my hands with Ganga's water ; pour it down 
my throat." 

"Mother, let us not talk of Ganga now. 
What is Ganga water at such an hour as 
this?" 

"Hqw strange thy voice sounds, Chajju. 
The illusion of death is on me. If I had 
strength to tell thee what I heard thee say, 
thou wouldst be amazed. Say it again, 
Chajju, and I will try to hear correctly." 

"Mother, what is Ganga water — " 

"It is the water of life, my son. Give me 
it. Do not torment me in my last hour." 

104 



WHEN THE GODS ARE DYING 

"I have none, mother. I thought it not 
worth the bringing. I have brought some- 
thing else instead — something I heard." 

"What is it, son? The blessing of some 
other god or goddess? Speak, I am ready 
for it!" 

"No, mother. It is the learning of wise 
Pandits by the banks of Ganga. They had 
studied in great schools and they marveled 
at my ignorance. They taught me what we 
as Hindus should believe. Ganga and Ma- 
hade v are but names, my mother — " 

As he spoke he looked at her. She turned 
her dying eyes on him. Her breast heaved ; 
her breath came short. He could not en- 
dure that look of hers, and laid his head 
upon her arm. The moments passed. After 
long waiting slowly in the darkness of the 
room came her faint whisper: 

"Chajju, dakus, dakus! We have been 
robbed, my son." 



105 



VII 

"WHAT'S IN A NAME?" 

TT was one of those warm days in South 
'^ India when the mercury stands around a 
hundred and twenty in the shade, and you 
wish there were some shade. 

The oxen had toiled through the sand all 
morning, at the speed of two miles an hour, 
and as we drew into the little village, they 
halted in front of the tavern with its three 
mud walls and a thatched roof, and there 
they refused to walk another step. It was 
midday and the sun shone straight down on 
Talikat Apuram, and I crawled out of the 
oxcart and into the tavern, feeling very 
much the same as butter looks in Ohio on a 
hot July day. 

The first thing I observed was a palm- 
tree pillar and I embraced it like a long-lost 
friend and then sat on the ground with a 
feeling of great relief, supporting myself by 
means of the pillar. I was glad there was a 
tavern with shade and a floor to sit on and 

106 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

a pillar to hold on to, for it was very, very 
warm. 

There were ten large black men seated 
on the floor of the tavern, and one of them 
stepped out for a few minutes and returned 
with a large jar full of water which he 
poised above me, and then without asking 
my permission, poured all over me — and it 
felt good. Then he went out and got an- 
other bucket of water and poured that all 
over me, and I felt better. Then another 
and another, and when he had poured the 
fourth bucket, I surprised that unsuspect- 
ing man by starting in to preach. 

Brother Shadrach, our Indian preacher, 
slipped up close to me and nudged me with 
his elbow, saying, "lya, they all belong to 
the robber caste." 

Meshach and Abednego have not yet ap- 
peared in our Madras District, but Shad- 
rach is a very useful preacher. When he 
mentioned that they were all Maravars, and 
hence robbers, I felt very much at home 
among them. I started telhng them the 
story of the thief on the cross, and how 
Jesus saved him even there, and told him, 

107 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"This day shall thou be in paradise with 
me." "You see," I added, "that was a man 
of your own caste, and Jesus saved him." 

Then I told them how Jesus saved me 
from my sins, and without more preaching 
I asked them, "How many of you would 
like to accept this Saviour?" and every man 
in the room stood up. 

It seemed too good to be true, but Shad- 
rach said, "These men are true men and 
not afraid for anything, and if they set out 
in this way, they will not turn aside from 
it." 

"Do you understand," I asked, "what 
dangers he in the way? Your neighbors 
will hate you and persecute you for being 
Christians. Your houses will be burned 
down, your children beaten on the streets, 
your women insulted, your lives in great 
danger all the time." 

"All this we know, sir. Twenty-seven 
years ago an evangelist built a chapel here, 
and on the night it was dedicated, the Raj ah 
sent his servants to tear it down, and they 
stabled their horses where the church had 
stood," was the answer. 

108 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

"Were there any Christians?" I asked. 

"Yes, many, but they were driven out 
and scattered. Some denied the faith and 
returned to their idols, and others left the 
village, for this is the Rajah's village, his 
own property, and he hated the Christians, 
and now only one man of that Way remains 
in our village, an old man, sir." 

The name of the village meant many 
things, and there were strange stories of its 
origin. It might mean, "The village where 
heads are displayed," or the "Village that 
shows its head," or "The village where you 
dare not show your head," just as you chose 
to pronounce that ancient name ; but the last 
pronunciation was by far the most common, 
and bore its own testimony to the character 
of the little town. 

One of the men took from about his neck 
the rosary of Rudraksha berries sacred to 
Siva, and handing them over to me, said, 
"Never will I worship Siva again, hence- 
forth only Jesus Christ." They pleaded 
with me for baptism, and on Brother Shad- 
rach's advice, I baptized them and took 
them into the church on probation. 

109 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

The only other Christian of the village 
was summoned, and when he heard the 
news rejoiced beyond measure. For 
twenty-seven years he had never heard the 
sound of the gospel, though he had read his 
Bible and prayed alone in his httle house. 
For fear of persecution he had shut his 
doors and barred his windows whenever 
he worshiped God, but the fact that he 
was a Christian was none the less known to 
the village. Now he had ten brethren to 
read and pray with him. Apart from other 
Christians, he had gone astray in some of 
his practices, and we had to arrange for 
his separate maintenance of the second 
wife whom he had taken when his first 
proved barren. But he was glad to accede 
to our requests and proved his eager desire 
to serve God by every word and act. 

Thus was founded the church in Talikat 
Apuram, "The village where you dare not 
show your head." When I returned after 
visiting some other villages, I found thirty 
new believers who desired baptism and 
whom we baptized. Then they asked me 
how they could build a house of worship. 

110 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

"How much money can you raise to 
build it?" I asked them. 

"Sir, we have no money, and our income 
is cut off," they answered. 

Now, while all Maravars are not robbers, 
and all, even those that are robbers, are 
regarded as very respectable by many 
castes of Hindus, they have regular incomes 
because they are of the robber caste, and 
nearly every village has a few families of 
Maravars whom they gladly support be- 
cause long experience has taught them that 
unless they do pay this regular income 
frequent robberies will deprive the vil- 
lagers of far more than the cost of that 
support. And in every case the Maravars 
of the village, to the last individual, will 
have a gilt-edged alibi for the entire night 
of the robbery. But as long as his salary 
is paid, the Maravar insures the village 
against robbery of all varieties. However, 
when he becomes a Christian, the fact that 
he is no longer a potential robber, or in 
any sense a menace to the community, is 
recognized, and the salary is immediately 
cut off. Thus folks who were compara- 
111 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

lively well to do were suddenly foreed to 
seek remunerative employment, and they 
had no funds to huild a church in Talikat 
Apuram. 

In their distress and urgent need of some 
sort of building which would serve as a 
place of meeting, they took me to a site 
on the main street of the town, and there 
urged me to kneel and pray. This I did, 
asking God to give them some sort of 
church, and, as they requested, grant that 
we might build it on that very plot of 
ground. Before I left that village, the 
deed for that piece of land was in my pocket, 
the donor having made a free gift of it to 
the Mission for a church building. 

But when a week or two had passed, I 
found a new sign of (iod's wonderful mercy, 
for a letter from a little town in southern 
Ohio brought me news that an old lady 
there was sending, through the Board of 
Foreign Missions, eighty dollars to build a 
little church in India. I fell upon my knees 
and thanked him for his answer to the prayer 
of that little congregation of new Christians 
of the robber caste. 

112 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

When the little congregation started to 
build, however, the villagers threatened them 
with all sorts of trouble, and launelied a 
suit in the neighboring Sub-Magistrate's 
Court to prevent our work on that land. 
Unable to secure the injunction they re- 
quired, they carried the suit to a liigher court 
and there again it was decided in our favor. 
Tliey a])pcalcd again on the ground that 
the judge, a (h'strict niunsiff, was a friend 
of mine, utterly ignoring the fact tliat he 
was a Mohammedan. Again, for the tliird 
time, the case was decided in our favor, and 
meanwliile without restriction, the work of 
building had gone on, until now the tiles 
were nearly ready to lay and they secured 
two tile-layers to do the work. Tliese were 
not Christians, and when the villagers who 
had found no success l)y legal means climbed 
upon the roof with knives and clubs, and 
threatened to kill them, the tile-layers nearly 
fell off the roof in their fear and anxiety 
to get away. It seemed as if the church 
would never be built in 'J'alikat Apuram. 

But at daybreak the following morning 
the three largest men of our congregation 

113 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

stood out in front of the building with the 
most blood-thirsty knives they could secure, 
and with their turbans twisted in warhke 
guise, and ponderous clubs over their 




shoulders, guarded the gate while the tile- 
layers completed their task on the roof. The 
mob gathered as before, with clubs and 
knives, but at sight of those determined 
faces and huge weapons of destruction, they 
said, "We declare our neutrality," and 

114 



WHAT'S IN A NAME? 

faded away. Thus the roof of the Httle 
church was tiled at last. 

After returning to America, however, I 
found the best part of the story, for, while 
visiting in southern Ohio, I called upon the 
old lady who had built that church, and 
found that her entire cash income was a 
pension paid her by the United States gov- 
ernment, because her husband had been a 
soldier in our Civil War, and I asked her 
how she could build a church with such an 
income. She answered, "My daughter sup- 
phes all my wants and I did not need the 
money. It all belongs to God, and I merely 
invested it for him." 

After the Church had gained a real influ- 
ence in the place, I detected a change in the 
pronunciation of the name of the town, and 
one day I asked Brother Mathura about it. 

"Mathura," said I, "you call your place 
Talikat Upuram now instead of Apuram. 
Can you tell me the reason?" 

"Sir," he answered, "the nature of the 
place has changed. Why not the name too? 
It is now the village that is showing its 
head.'* 

115 



VIII 

ROADS TO PEACE 

T WILL tell you the story as he told it to 
"'■ me that day so eventful in both our lives. 
That was the day on which I discovered his 
soul and saw it laid bare and throbbing to 
my brimming eyes. That was the day when 
he knew I was his friend, when he learned 
for the first time that I had been watching 
his career with a solicitude equal to a father's 
for an ambitious and devoted son. It was 
the day of our long walk along the barley 
fields and down the bank of the canal to our 
distant camp. It all came about by a word 
of praise cautiously given : 

"Your soul was a blazing torch this morn- 
ing, Tara Chand, and your words were 
words of fire. The Hindus of the town will 
have hard work to put out the conflagration 
you lighted in their hearts." 

I feared to say more and waited for his 
reply. It was long in coming: "Only the 

116 



ROADS TO PEACE 

heart that burns feels. To be sensitive to 
sorrow one must know sorrow. To know 
the Hindu's burden one must have carried 
it himself, one must still carry it. I am 
Christian, Padri Sahib,^ but I am Hindu 
too. You look strangely at me? It is the 
Hindu's thirst that I slake at the Christian's 
fountain; it is the Hindu's burden that I 
pull with the yoke of Christ. There were 
two of us — I was the younger — " 

He stopped talking as if he had ah'cady 
said too much, and remained silent, rubbing 
an ear of barley in his hands. Silence is the 
best of listeners. I was a good listener that 
morning. Finally he threw away the barley 
stalks, shrugged his shoulders, and con- 
tinued : 

"It is too long a story — " 

"It is a long way to our tents, Tara 
Chand." 

"A long story takes much patience to 
hear it out, Padri Sahib." 

"When it is of friends, patience is an 
eager listener," I replied. 

"You are kind, Padri Sahib — " 

^ Title of respect given to a missionary. 
117 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

He picked up a fallen twig and pulled off 
the leaves as he spoke, slowly at first: 

"There were two of us. I was the younger 
brother. Our father was dead. My brother 
took his place. How kind he was to me! 
We were halwais [confectioners] in Sita- 
pur. We were wealthy as Hindus go and 
had all that we desired. I did not under- 
stand my brother, though I thought I 
knew him. It was he who set my soul on 
fire — to feel, to suffer, to bear the burden. 
And yet I knew not till that day that fire 
consumed his soul. Until that day he kept 
his burden so concealed that none ever sus- 
pected it. That day! That day, Padri 
Sahib! I count time now from that day. 
From that day and the other!" 

He looked into my face. The fires within 
his soul were burning uncontrolled : 

"I am confusing you. It is hard to tell 
the thing in order. That day — the day when 
my brother chose the Hindu's road to peace. 
The other — when I chose the Christian's 
road to peace. That day came months be- 
fore the other, and it is of that day that I 
shall speak. The other is another story. 

118 



ROADS TO PEACE 

. . . He was my brother and I knew him 
not. He it is that set my soul on fire and 
keeps it burning. It is the flame of my 
brother's heart that I passed to others this 
morning — " 

"And to me as well, Tara Chand." 
"You are kind, Padri Sahib. What was 
I speaking of ? That day! He had been to 
a wedding the night before, and in the morn- 
ing, sitting in the halwais shop together, he 
began to laugh, and then he said: 'You 
should have been there last night, Tara 
Chand. Such feasting and shouting and 
jesting! You would have thought that the 
whole city was getting married. There was 
some drunkenness too, but what of that? 
One must have merriment.' As he laughed 
he took up his strainer, and dipping it into 
the boiling sugar drew out the hot jalehis} 
"I reached out my hand and lifted one of 
the sweetmeats. 'Your jalebis are good this 
morning. Din Dayal, my brother,' I said, 
'When the heart of the halwai is light, his 
sweets are excellent. You are ever laugh- 
ing over some escapade, and the laugh goes 

^ An Indian sweetmeat. 

119 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

into your sugar and flavors it. Tiiese wasps 
and honeybees that settle on your wares 
tasting their sweetness are related to you, 
for you, like them, have ej^e and nose and 
mouth for the joys of life, and you are ever 
finding them where freshly made. I wish 
I were like you.' 

" 'I am as the Creator made me, Tara 
Chand. I love a wedding song and a good 
nautch;^ I love the clink of jewelry on the 
ankles of women; I love a dark eye behind 
a half -drawn veil; I love the stories of 
Krishna — his sportings with the Gopis" of 
Brindaban and his sixteen thousand wives. 
I love the Holi festival with its throwing 
of colored water, its gambling, and its free- 
dom from restraint. Yet mark you, Tara 
Chand, all these only on proper occasion. 
The rest of the time you will find me in my 
own home or shop as pious as any Hindu 
householder. And when I fold my hands 
in prayer before Lord Ganesh — ' 

"I finished the sentence for him: 'Even 
Ganesh, the elephant-headed, smiles be- 

1 Dance. 

* Female cowherds. ^ 

120 



ROADS TO PEACE 

tween his tusks ; for your smile, my brother, 
is as contagious as the plague.' 

"He stopped me with his raised hand. 
'You are dipping your words in sugar this 
morning, Tara Chand, and warm and fresh 
they taste good to the soul. But, like a 
good halwai (as you are), leave out the 
flavor of bitterness. Speak not of the 
plague ! That is a word for Lord Ganesh's 
ear alone at the puja hour. ... But the 
wedding, Tara Chand; you should have 
seen what we did with the bridegroom. I 
laugh to see him yet.' 

"He laughed unrestrainedly, and I 
laughed too, though I understood not the 
cause of his merriment. Ram Das, a friend 
of his, came by, and Din Dayal took up his 
brass scales and adjusted the strings. 

" 'My little brother would hear of the 
bridegroom. Ram Das, and I cannot stop 
laughing to tell it. You have a more sober 
countenance than I. Tell him of the bride- 
groom. Ram Das, while I weigh you out 
some jalehis, four annas' worth.' 

" 'The bridegroom is dead,' said Ram 
Das. 

121 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

" 'No, we didn't kill him. Ram Das. 
Make it out no worse than it was. The 
truth, the truth, that will make Tara Chand 
laugh sufficiently.' 

" 'The truth. Din Dayal, by the gods I 
have spoken it. There is no laugh to the 
truth. They are burning his body now. 
The screams of the bride — have you not 
heard them? But I forgot! What can you 
hear, Din Dayal, surrounded by your 
sweets? All the world to you is sweets; one 
large hurfce wrapped in silver foil. Man, 
outside your shop there is sorrow! Laugh 
here all you choose at the bridegroom; yon- 
der we beat our breasts for him.' 

"I looked at my brother. He sat as one 
in a trance, staring vacantly before him, 
and Ram Das turned to go. I stopped him, 
trying to excuse my brother. I understood 
him not, Padri Sahib: 

" 'He meant no harm, Ram Das. I am 
sure he thinks of more than pleasure. He 
was speaking to me but a moment ago of 
bitterness. Speak, how came the bride- 
groom to die?' 

"Ram Das turned to me and pointed his 

122 



ROADS TO PEACE 

finger at my brother. 'Does he indeed know 
one word of sorrow? Of bitterness did he 
speak? Then I tell him, speaking so he 
may understand. The bridegroom died of 
— bitterness. I can say no more.' 

" 'No, tell us more. Ram Das,' I pleaded, 
while Din Dayal sat as one unconscious. 
'What is bitterness? I bend my ear to you. 
Stand on your toes and whisper in it !' 

"Ram Das reached up his lips and as he 
spoke in softest tone, my brother laid his 
head alongside of ours: 'Bitterness? The 
bubonic plague is bitterness.' 

"Ere we had raised our heads Ram Das 
was gone. It was then I saw for the first 
time, and even then I understood it not, a 
look of unutterable sadness steal over the 
features of my brother. Before I could sus- 
pect anything he shook it off with a smile. 

" 'Why should you look so solemn, Tara 
Chand? Let corpses look that! The bride 
is the widow. You are neither the corpse 
nor the bride. The bridegroom has had his 
pleasure and is gone hence. But we are 
still here. When we have had our pleas- 
ure we shall follow him. Just because one 

123 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

of us has ceased from eating and has risen, 
shall the rest of us call the meal finished and 
wipe our fingers? Nothing has really 
changed since yesterday. Sorrow is still 
sorrow; joy is still joy. Jalchis, see, are 
still sweet — ,' and biting into one he held it 
up between his fingers. 'My little brother, 
eat that white pera next you, all sprinkled 
with pistachio and cocoanut! There! We 
feel better. Now let us laugh together I' 

"Passers-by wondered at the hearty 
laughing in the shop of the halwai. I my- 
self wondered he could laugh so heartily. 
He read my looks and answered: 

" 'Tara Chand, I laugh because I am 
wise. No man has better opportunity than 
the halwai to learn true wisdom, as he sits 
in his shop. Sit here beside me, and let 
me teach you the true philosophy of life. 
I am your older brother. Now give atten- 
tion while I open a mouth of wisdom.' 

"He coughed with mock solemnity and I 
enjoyed hugely his manner. 

" 'You see the crowds in the bazaar com- 
ing and going, Tara Chand. Let us study 
them as they pass this shop. There is the 

124 



ROADS TO PEACE 

rich man in his fine carriage — two servants 
on the coachman's box, and two standing be- 
hind as grooms. There is the Brahman 
watching his step. There is the villager all 
eyes and no brains, with legs like a crane 



■*r^^ 




and mouth like an open well. Here is a 
bhnd beggar, asking for alms with his 
monotonous cry. He thinks I can feed all 
the blind of the city. There is a leper, his 
nose half gone, his fingers stumps. Here is 
an orphan — see how his ribs protrude. 
Sweets are too rich for the starving, there- 

125 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

fore I refused him. There is the bold-faced 
harlot, advertising her trade. The gods pity 
her victims! Yonder far down the street, 
headed this way, is a sadJiu in yellow robe, 
with his rosary and begging-bowl. He will 
no doubt reach out for a luddoo. These holy 
men have renounced the world, but not the 
halwai's shop. Their eyes are sharp and 
their teeth strong for the curds and sugar. 
And so, my little brother, we sit among the 
sweetmeats and out yonder the world passes 
before us, and from this we learn the true 
wisdom. Be not too tender-hearted. The 
bazaar is ever filled with people of all sorts. 
Do not take their affairs to your heart. 
Look from them to your sweets and to your 
home behind, but look not too closely at the 
street where men and women come and go. 
So shall the joy of life not be given an 
alms to beggars and diseased.' 

"After this merry burst he lapsed into 
silence. I made no reply, but sat watching 
the movements of the sadhu working his 
way through the crowd. The minutes 
passed. Finally my brother heaved a sigh, 
and taking his scales held them poised. I 

126 



ROADS TO PEACE 

turned to him and laughed, still unsuspect- 
ing, unconscious of the truth. 

" 'O philosopher of joy, why do you be- 
lie yourself with such a groan f 

"Pie made no reply, and laughing, I re- 
peated the question. Then he spoke and 
his tone was changed: 

" 'These scales are accurate and these 
weights are true. But, alas! Tara Chand, 
the strings of my heart are all twisted and 
my wisdom is weighing light. I have given 
you short weight, little brother, and you, 
foolish one, have not known it. I have 
piled on laughter and words, and yet the 
other scale lifts not. It is very heavy.' 

" 'What is heavy. Din Dayal? What are 
you weighing? I do not understand.' 

"He remained silent. I was puzzled be- 
yond all measure. When he spoke it was 
to himself and very slowly: 

" 'Very strange that Joy mates not with 
Peace! Again and again have I married 
Joy as bride to Peace, and Wisdom, as 
priest, has tied their garments together. 
Again and again, as now, I have sat down 
to the wedding feast to enjoy their union. 

127 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

But the bridegroom — the bridegroom dies 
of bitterness — ' 

"A voice broke in upon his meditation: 

" 'Peace ! the peace of the sadhu upon 
you!' 

"Din Dayal raised his eyes. He looked 
at the sadhu. The minutes passed and still 
he looked. He leaned over his wares and 
looked more deeply. I reached out my hand 
to pull him back: 

" 'Have a care, Din Dayal! You will 
fall out of your shop. What do you see 
that you stare so?' 

"My brother still looked at the sadhu. 

" 'Where did you get it, Holy One?' and 
his voice trembled as he spoke. 

" 'Get what, my brother?' asked the 
sadhu. 

" 'Get peace, peace!' 

" 'I found it on the road of renunciation.* 
The sadhu spoke the heart of Hinduism. 

" 'Is it there for anyone who seeks it?' 

" 'It is there, but the road is long and 
weary. It is a search of many years, and 
hunger and thirst are fellow pilgrims on 
the road.' 

128 



ROADS TO PEACE 

"'Can it be found, Holy One? Will 
there be no disappointment in it?' 

" 'It is there if you have the will to reach 
it. It is certain, sure.' 

"My brother turned and looked at me. 
I never saw that look before and knew not 
what it meant. He looked at the house be- 
hind, where his wife and his little son were 
sheltered, and then he looked at the sadhu. 

" 'Holy One,' and he rose as he spoke, 'I 
follow you on the road of renunciation. 
Tara Chand, the shop is yours. Go to my 
child and his mother and give them your 
best care. Bear them this one message: 
"Peace is greater than joy!" ' 

"Ere I could make out what was hap- 
pening, the sadhu and his new disciple dis- 
appeared around the corner. When I came 
to myself I was saying : 'I warned him if he 
leaned so far he would fall into the road, 
but I dreamed not of the road of renuncia- 
tion.' " 

He finished the story. I was deeply af- 
fected, and began to look for words to com- 
fort him, but Tara Chand interrupted me: 

"It is not all the story, Padri Sahib. The 

129 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

rest is brief, but to me the harder in the 
telling. If you had come earlier to our city, 
the tale might have been different. My 
brother might now be on the other side of 
you, and this morning two brothers in place 
of one might have broken the bread of life 
in the hungry town. You were too late, 
and he was gone." 

I said nothing in reply and he went on: 
"Three years ago I saw him once more. 
It was at the river bank. I was the center 
of a large crowd. Eager faces looked up 
to me as I undid the foldings and revealed 
the meanings of those words which brought 
me into this way: 'My peace give I unto 
you. Not as the world giveth, give I.' 
Padri Sahib, the men of India drink these 
words as thirsty children. The land you 
see is parched and brown, but not so parched 
as the hearts of its people. I had noticed 
a Hindu sadhu on the edge of the crowd, 
standing there in all his filth. His body 
was smeared with cow-dung and streaked 
with yellow ochre, his face and hair were 
covered with ashes, his only covering was a 
loin cloth. He stood at one end and I at 

130 



ROADS TO PEACE 

the other. There was some space between 
us. He was not watching me, but staring 
vacantly before him at the crowd. 

"As I spoke, his hard stare — he was a 
victim of drugs, Padri Sahib — came nearer 
and nearer. I have felt a strange drawing 
toward every sadhu since that day, and I 
played for the gaze of this one. I knew not 
why it was, but I told the story of my 
brother. The sadhu listened unconcerned. 
It was as though he did not hear. Before 
I was through with it, a great suspicion 
flashed upon me. 'Peace is greater than 
joy,' I shouted and looked hard at him. He 
lifted his gaze slowly and my eye met his. 
'Peace is greater than joy,' I shouted again. 
I knew him then — it was my brother. He 
looked at me. He seemed to struggle with 
his memory, as if trying, in great weakness, 
to recollect some incident long forgotten. 
All in vain. He lapsed into that vacant 
stare. 

"I rushed through the crowd to him. 
They wondering at my action. 'Din Dayal, 
halwai of Sitapur! I am your brother, 
Tara Chand.' The man was drugged and 

131 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

heard not. Passionately I seized him by 
the arm. 'We have both been seekers after 
peace, my brother. Speak, Din Dayal, if 
you understand me now!' 

" 'The Holy One hears you not,' said a 
bystander; 'his thoughts are far from here.' 

"As I stood looking at him the voices out 
of the crowd became ever more insistent: 
'Come, tell us more of a peace such as the 
world gives not.' 

"I yielded to them. ... I never saw my 
brother again!" 

"That was a test indeed, Tara Chand. 
Did the peace that you had found stand the 
strain?" I asked. 

"That is why I speak to-day as I do, 
Padri Sahib." He smiled and pointed 
ahead. 

"Here are the tents, and the end of my 
long story." 



132 



IX 

THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

/~\NE day a big, broad-shouldered lawyer 
^-^ of my congregation came to see me, 
and with one of those beautiful Oriental 
smiles, said, "Missionary, I want to be a 
preacher." 

"Vetha Nayagam," said I, "aren't you 
making by the practice of law three or four 
times as much as any of my preachers ever 
make?" 

"Yes," he answered. 

"Then why do you want to preach? Be- 
sides," I added, "I cannot pay you even 
what I am paying my other preachers. I 
can pay you nothing at all." 

"Sir," he asked, "have I asked you for 
any money?" 

"No," I answered, "but you have a wife 
and children to support, and you cannot 
work without any salary." 

"Missionary," was the reply, "if you will 

133 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

just give me permission to preach, I will 
sell my property back in Sinnia Puram and 
live on the proceeds as long as anything 
remains, and when that is all gone, per- 
haps I shall have gathered from among the 
heathen a congregation which will at least 
be able to support my family and me, and 
if not, you have many rich people in Amer- 
ica who could easily do that." 

I was delighted, and with great pleasure 
wrote him out an exhorter's license, signify- 
ing that D. Vetha Nayagam was hereby 
licensed to preach the gospel in Sinnia 
Puram and the surrounding villages. We 
knelt down together and thanked God for 
giving us this new preacher, and he set out 
at once for his village. Before he reached 
home his house was burned down over the 
heads of his wife and three little children. 
Persecution is a very common means of pre- 
venting the gospel reaching the poor and 
downtrodden. I have had many of my poor- 
est parishioners come to me with great 
bleeding gashes across their backs, and more 
than a hundred of their houses burned down 
for the one crime of becoming Christians. 

134 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

So when I heard of another house burned 
down I just went as soon as I could to his 
village and found Vetha Nayagam and his 
family in that ruin of a house. They had 
spread a few shocks of grain over the 
charred remains of the rafters, so there were 
a few spots within the walls where one could 
sit down without getting sunstroke under 
that blazing sun. After talking with them 
all for a few minutes I suggested that it 
would be well for us to pray, and we all 
knelt down together, Vetha Nayagam, his 
wife, and the three children — Paul Stephen, 
aged ten; Grace, aged eight; and little 
Arthur Theophilus, aged six. I wish you 
could have heard that tiny fellow sing the 
one hundred and thirty-third Psalm in 
Tamil, "Behold how good and pleasant it is 
for brethren to dwell together in harmony." 
India sadly lacks the harmony. 

Of course I prayed first, because God 
listens first to white people. Don't you be- 
Heve that? Well, haven't we always acted 
as if he did? I said: "O God, this man has 
lost his house because he started in to preach 
thy gospel. Please give him another house, 

135 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

for Jesus' sake. Amen." When I had 
finished I felt as if I had really prayed a 
great prayer, but I remembered and said, 
"O Vetha Nayagam, will you pray?" 

He prayed: "O God, I have not asked 
this missionary for any salary, and I do not 
want pay in money, but give me for my 
salary the hearts of all the people around 
here, that I may bring them into thy king- 
dom, for Jesus' sake. Amen." 

Now when I heard Brother Vetha Naya- 
gam's prayer it seemed to me that the big 
petition I had just asked of God was about 
the size of little Arthur Theophilus, and 
that was the way I felt too, alongside my 
Indian brother, but over in the corner of 
the house his little brown wife was kneeling, 
and she looked so neat and nice and the chil- 
dren were so sweet and clean, that I felt 
sure she could pray too, and so I asked her, 
"Sister, will you pray?" 

"O Father," she pleaded, "please forgive 
the people who burned our house down. 
Forgive them and save them, and bring 
them into thy kingdom, for Jesus' sake. 
Amen." 

136 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

In that one year Vetha Nayagam brought 
three hundred and sixty people into the 
kingdom of God. Three hundred and sixty 
people are worth more than the finest house 
that ever was built. Pray for your ene- 
mies? Why, of course! That was what 
Jesus commanded us to do. It is worth 
while praying for your enemies when you 
realize that you secure results like that. 

In every village to which he went, people 
sought the Lord and begged me to come 
out and baptize them. I had just baptized 
a hundred or more in the village of Kumara 
Puram, and the next morning was sitting 
in the village telling the people about 
America. They have gotten Christ mixed 
up with America in their minds and seem 
to think they are connected in some way. I 
wish we thought so more here in America! 
So whenever I tell them about Christ, they 
want to hear about America. 

A good number of them sat around me 
on the ground listening to my stories, when 
there came across the village an old man, 
all doubled up and leaning upon his staff, 
crawling rather than walking. He would 

137 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

have been quite tall had he stood erect, but 
looked as if he never had stood erect. You 
never saw anyone so hungry-looking in all 
your life, yet he was only one of the fifty 
million Indian people always on the verge 
of starvation. Behind him walked ten or 
twelve younger men, but not one of them 
would walk in front of the old man; that 
would not be respectful, and heathen India 
knows how to respect old men. 

Before I dreamed of his purpose he fell 
at my feet and clasped them in his bony 
arms and said, "Missionary, will you read 
our petition?" 

I took him by his bony old shoulders and 
lifted him from the ground and seated him 
upon the old wooden mortar that served me 
as a seat. Then I said: "Never do that to 
me any more. I am just a man like you. 
Where is your petition, Old Man?" "Old 
Man" is the most respectful title you can 
use in addressing people in South India. 

Out of his loin-cloth, his only garment, 
he took a great sheet of paper and handed 
it over to me, saying, "You will have to 
read it. We do not know how to read." 

138 



THE LAWYER -PREACHER 

Written in Tamil, it read like this: "Rev- 
erend and Dear Sir, we the undersigned, a 
hundred and sixty-five people of Nagalapu- 
rani Village, desiring to become Christians, 
present this petition begging you to come 
to our village and baptize us. We have 
thrown away our old gods and will never 
worship them any more. We have heard of 
your God and want to serve him, and to 
show you that we are in earnest we have all 
signed our names to this petition." 

Sign their names I There was not one 
of them that could have read his name had 
he seen it signed. Do you know how tliey 
signed their names? In every large village 
there lives a professional letter-writer and 
Nagalapuram is a town of ten thousand peo- 
ple, so they got the letter- writer to write 
out the whole petition and then every one 
of them put his thumb-impression in ink on 
the back of that petition, and the scribe 
wrote the name of each individual after the 
thumb-impression. There they were, a hun- 
dred and sixty-five of them. 

Talk about your authentic documents I 
Why, somebody might forge your signature 

139 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

to-morrow, but nobody could ever forge 
your thumb-impression. There aren't two 
alike in the whole wide world. 

So I took the petition and said to the old 
man, "Kattayan, I am glad you wish to be 
a Christian, and that the villagers want 
to come to Christ, but I cannot give you 
a pastor, and until you have a pastor, I can- 
not baptize you, for you do not know how 
to lead a Christian life." 

"Sir, they may kill us, if they will, but 
whether we live or die, we will surely be 
Christians." 

"Kattayan," said I, "I know you could 
die for Christ, but you do not know how 
to live for him. Till you have instruction 
you cannot be baptized." 

"Sir," he pleaded, "I am a very old man. 
All these years I have waited and now you 
have come. I may never see you again. 
Please baptize me, so that when I die I can 
go to God and tell him I am a Christian." 

"Did you have cholera in the village last 
year?" I asked. 

"Yes, sir, three hundred and seventy-two 
people died in one month, with cholera." 

140 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

"Will it come back this year?" 

"Sir," he answered, "it comes every year." 

"Suppose," said I, "we baptized you and 
when the cholera came, your own boy should 
lie dying of cholera and should ask you to 
pray for him, what would you do. Old 
Man?" 

"Sir," he cried, "I do not know what I 
should do." 

"You would go down to the creek," said 
I, "where your old gods were thrown into 
the mud, and digging one of them out, you 
would call on your old god to save your 
son." 

"That is right. That is what we would 
do," he said. 

"You see," I said, "you do not know how 
to be Christians until we can send you a 
pastor who will show you how to pray to 
the living God who can hear and answer 
your prayers." 

"That is true. Give us a preacher, give 
us a preacher!" 

"But," I objected, "can you support a 
preacher if I send you one? How much 
money could you give him a month?" 

141 



INDIA, BELOVED OF PIE A YEN 

"Sir," he pleaded, "we never get money, 
but we will give him some of our millets, 
ragi, cholam, kumbu." 

"O, I cannot send a man there without 
something better than that." 

"But, sir, that is all we have, and we are 
very poor." There was no need to mention 
their want. I could count every bone of 
his poor old body. 

"Old Man," said I, "I will try to get some 
friends of mine to help support your 
preacher, and I will send you one as soon 
as I can. Now, do not cry, but go back to 
your village and I will tell my friends about 
your desire to be Christians, and they will 
help you." 

And I sent the old man and his followers 
back to Nagalapuram, but I translated their 
petition and sent copies of it to many friends 
and asked them to take the support of a 
native preacher for Nagalapuram at fifty 
dollars a year together with what Kattayan 
and his people would pay toward his sup- 
port. 

A year passed and I found myself avoid- 
ing Nagalajjuram, and because I had not 

142 



fc> 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

gotten them a preacher ; but thus far no one 
answered my letters. They just concluded 
that I was a beggar, and paid no attention 
to my pleas. Another year hastened away 
after the first, and still no answer — no 
preacher. Then I sent Raju to visit the vil- 
lage and his postcard spoke thus, "Dear 
Brother Kingham: To-day I am in Naga- 
lapuram as you instructed me. Old Kat- 
tayan is dying, and said I should tell you 
he wants you to come and baptize him, so 
he can go to God and tell him that he is 
a Christian." 

It was the rainy season and oxcarts could 
not be had for love or money, for all the 
oxen were plowing, so I walked. It was 
fifty miles to walk and the Vaippar was in 
flood, but one night at midnight I found 
myself in Nagalapuram, and hunted among 
the houses of ten thousand people till I 
found the little mud-walled, thatch-roofed 
house of old Kattayan. There by the flicker- 
ing light of a cocoanut oil lamp, I baptized 
the old man in the name of the Father and 
of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. 

I had hardly finished his baptism when 

143 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

people crowded around me there and in the 
street saying: "Baptize me, baptize me. I 
too wish to be a Christian. I have been 
waiting two years. Here is this little boy. 
He has waited two years." 

Perhaps you would have had more de- 
termination than I had, for between mid- 
night and morning I baptized every one 
whose name was on that petition, a hun- 
dred and sixty-five. I felt it was not right 
to keep them waiting longer. 

Then they gathered around me again and 
said, "That preacher — have you got us that 
preacher?" 

"No," I said, "I could not get him. I 
have no money for him." 

"But you said you would write to Amer- 
ica." 

"I did write letters to my friends in 
America." 

"Did you tell them we wanted a 
preacher?" 

"Yes," said I. 

"Did you tell them we were poor?" they 
asked. 

"Yes, I told them you were poor," I said. 

144 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

There was a long interval of silence, and 
then some one said, "Say, did you mail 
those letters?" 

I could stand it no longer, and so, bidding 
them farewell, I came away, and for the 
next two years I still avoided Nagalapuram. 
For still I waited in vain for the answer 
to my request for a preacher for that vil- 
lage. 

Then one day a brother of Vetha Naya- 
gam, the lawyer-preacher, came to see me 
and said, "Sir, I too desire to be a 
preacher." 

Knowing his knowledge of the Scrip- 
ture and his general ability, I said, "Do you 
know the salary I am paying your brother, 
Vetha Nayagam?" 

"Yes," he said, "I know." 

"Will you take the same pay?" I asked. 

"Yes, sir," was his glad response, and 
I appointed him as pastor of a hundred and 
sixty-five probationers in Nagalapuram vil- 
lage on a salary of "nothing a month and 
board yourself," and sell what you have to 
support yourself while you preach the gos- 
pel. He was delighted to get it. 

145 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

As soon as they had a pastor there, I went 
to Nagalapuram. As I drew near I saw the 
people coming out to meet me, and who do 
you suppose was the very first in the proces- 
sion? 

You remember old Kattayan, who was 
dying? Well, after he was baptized and re- 
ceived into the church on probation he did 
not die. He got well, and it was he who 
came hobbling along on his old staff and 
got my hand into that bony hand of his, 
and shook and shook and shook. He was a 
sort of natural born Methodist. 

"What's the matter?" I asked. 

"Matter?" said he. "Didn't you know we 
had a preacher?" 

"Is he any good?" I asked. 

"Sir," he answered, "we never did have 
such a preacher." This was quite true. 
They did not have a man, woman, or child 
who could read a verse out of the Bible 
in their own Tamil tongue. They did not 
have a Sunday school teacher, nor an Ep- 
worth League officer, nor even a Ladies' 
Aid Society, and yet for four years in the 
face of a hostile and persecuting heathen- 

146 







In an ancient stronghold of Hinduism 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

ism, they had stood firm and had not back- 
shdden. 

"Well, I am glad you like your preacher," 
I ventured. 

"Yes, sir," was the answer, "he has 
started a school, and our boys and girls 
are learning to read and write, and my boy 
can say a number of verses out of the 
Bible, and I too have learned some Bible 
verses and can recite them," and if I had 
not headed him off, Kattayan would have 
rattled off every verse he knew. 

"I am glad you like your preacher," I 
repeated. 

"Yes," he said; "now we want a church." 

"But, Kattayan, have you any money to 
build a church?" 

"No, we haven't any money, but that 
preacher you gave us told us if there was 
anything we wanted we should just ask God 
for it, and we thought we could get you to 
just tell him that we want a church." 

Kattayan took me by the hand and 
showed me the way up a back alley and 
around a corner to an old cowshed. What 
use any member of that congregation ever 

147 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

had for a cowshed I do not know, but I am 
sure that none of them had ever owned a 
cow. Perhaps the grandfather of one of 
them had. At any rate, there was the cow- 
shed. 

"What is this?" I asked. 

"Missionary, this is where we hold serv- 
ices." 

There was room for twenty-five inside 
and for a hundred and forty outside, so 
the whole congregation was accommodated. 
Some of us got inside, and as they had 
asked me to pray, I prayed as follows: "O 
God, these people have been starved all 
their lives, and are hungry even now. They 
have no money to build a church, but they 
want a church. O God, please give them 
some kind of a church, for Jesus' sake. 
Amen." 

Kattayan then took me out on the main 
street of the town and showed me a httle 
plot of ground. "There," he said, "is where 
we are going to build that church." 

"But," I said, "hadn't you better wait 
till you get some money before you talk 
of building?" 

148 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

"Money?" said he. "Money? Say, didn't 
you just ask God for that church?" 

"Kattayan," said I, "excuse me — I have 
— urgent business in Tuticorin. I must go. 
Salaam." And I left the village. 

Do you know why I went away so hur- 
riedly? I can tell you the reason. When 
your missionary finds that some of his new 
converts out of heathenism have more faith 
in the Uving God than the missionary, that 
is a good time for the missionary to move. 
So I moved. 

I went back to Tuticorin, and when I 
got there found a letter waiting upon my 
table — a letter from a little town in Kansas 
of which I had never heard and signed by 
a lady whose name I did not know. It 
read thus: 

"Dear Brother Kingham: Dr. Scher- 
merhorn was preaching in our church last 
night and said that you needed a lot of little 
churches in your villages in India, and that 
the natives could put up quite a church 
building if they had fifty dollars help. My 
father was going to give me a diamond ring, 
but I told him, 'Father, I don't want the 

149 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

ring, just give me the money and I will 
send it out to Brother Kingham to build 
a church.' So here it is. Please build the 
best church you can with this fifty dollars, 
and when it is finished send me a picture 
of it. This building is to be a memorial to 
my little sister who died when she was five." 

How many of the folks who are listen- 
ing to this letter believe that the Almighty 
God who swings the planets in their orbits 
and keeps the seventy -year meteors on time 
to the second, would listen to the prayer 
of a group of poor, half-starved, half -naked, 
ignorant black people praying in an old 
cowshed under that blazing sun in South 
India, and do what they asked of him? Do 
you suppose he would listen to their prayer ? 
Why, of course he did. And he heard it, 
as he promised, even before it was uttered. 
That is what God promises in his Word 
to do. 

I gave the money to Samuel and told 
him to go ahead and build that church, 
and he did. Every member of that little 
congregation — men, women, and children — 
helped. They managed to get a holiday 

150 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

from their taskmasters, and the walls went 
up rapidly. 

One day Samuel, the pastor, was up on 
the walls supervising and helping in the 
work when three men came that way and 
called him, "Hey you, fellow, come here. 
We want no church in this village." 

"Well, men," he answered, "what are you 
going to do about it?" 

"If you go on building that church, you 
will die a sudden, horrible, and violent 
death," they threatened, their black faces 
still blacker with hatred. 

"Men," said he, "I am building that httle 
church for Jesus Christ, and I am not afraid 
of anything you can do to me." 

And with a smile, he said, "Salaam," and 
returned to his work. The church was com- 
pleted in a few days. 

Then he sent me a note, "Please come 
over and help us celebrate. The church 
building is completed." 

It was one of the darkest nights I ever 
traveled, and I walked only five miles, but 
over the roughest, rockiest road imaginable, 
and when I got to the church the whole 

151 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

congregation was out in front; and as soon 
as I arrived they formed a procession, the 
men carrying torches and the women and 
children joining in the singing with the men 
leading and the band in front. Such a 
band! You never saw such a band. You 
never heard such a band. And you would 
not want to hear it again if you did hear 
it. And last of all they brought me, seated 
ten feet above the heads of the admiring 
throng in a wedding car, the kind you ride 
around in the day you get married down 
there in South India. And we went around 
the town, up one street and down another, 
the band ahead, the people marching and 
singing, and the wedding car in the rear, 
pulled by two oxen, while the voices of our 
Christians rang out in their favorite song: 

"The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. 
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures." 

And while they sang there were many 
who were hungry, many who had not had 
one good square meal for years, if ever ! 

Up in my exalted seat I found my heart 
overflowing with joy for the light that was 

153 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

beginning to shine after all these centuries 
of idolatry. When the procession was over 
we returned to the little church and knelt 
there to thank God for his love in giving 
us at last a preacher and a church. 

Then Samuel said, "It is very late. Let 
me show you where you are to spend the 
night," and took me to a little stone build- 
ing in a corner of the town, gave me a 
cot, and left me to go to the little Hindu 
restaurant where he always had his meals. 

It was very late, but he had forgotten all 
about supper until then. While he was 
eating his food he collapsed there on the 
floor of the little restaurant, for some one 
had given him with his food enough arsenic 
to kill five men. 

He did not die that night. It was too 
big a dose, and he did not die till the third 
day, and then in excruciating agony. 

Not dreaming of his danger I called his 
brother, the lawyer-preacher, Vetha Naya- 
gam, to come with me to Kottur, where we 
had people to baptize. He did not return 
to the village till the third day, just in time 
to see Samuel's horrible and violent death. 

153 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

The fifth day, returning from Tuticorin, 
I met him on the road and got out of my 
oxcart to meet him. His great chest was 
heaving and his eyes were full of tears. 

"What is the matter?" I asked. 

"Pastor, they have murdered my brother," 
and he told me of the threat and the whole 
story. 

As I remembered what he had undergone, 
my blood boiled. 

"What is the use of your preaching?" 
I asked. "You gave up your law business 
at which you were making money. You 
labored a long time without any pay, and 
even now are receiving but a little help 
from the mission. On the day you started in 
to preach, your house was burned down over 
the heads of your family, and now — now 
they have murdered your brother. They 
would rather have murdered you, because 
you have the larger congregation. You had 
better give up preaching. Give it up and 
go back to your law business. You have 
had to sell nearly everything you had in 
order to preach thus far, and you still have 
a wife and children to support." 

154 



THE LAWYER-PREACHER 

As I looked I saw that through his tears 
Vetha Nayagam was smiHng at me, as he 
answered, "Pastor, my brother was a saint 
of the Living God, and to-day he is a martyr 
to Jesus Christ; and if God should give me 
the privilege of dying such a death as he 
died, I should praise his name forever." 




155 



X 

WHEN OUTCASTES DREAM 

TIWAN DAS sat in the door of his 
^ little mud hut at the evening hour. He 
held in his hand the stem of his hookah, but 
he was not thinking of the flavor of the 
black tobacco mixed with gur. He was not 
thinking even of his own great weariness, 
though he had been that day to a distant 
village. His eyes were on the red glow of 
the western sky, fading as quickly as the 
red of the glowing embers in his pipe-bowl. 
The children and the goats as they passed 
in and out of the doorway almost stumbled 
over him, but Jiwan Das paid no heed. He 
was in deep thought — an unusual state for 
any simple villager of North India, — or any 
other part of the land ! 

"The dream," he finally whispered to him- 
self, "the dream. What means the dream?" 
"The dream again!" snapped a woman's 
voice within. "Shall we never be rid of the 

156 



WHEN OUTCASTES DREAM 

dream? Thy children are starving, thy cat- 
tle grow daily less fit for work, thy neigh- 
bors laugh openly at thy madness. Who 
knows whither thou art wandering day by 
day? Why not tell the dream and be done 
with it?" 

Jiwan Das arose, tall and so thin that if 
any was starving you might say it was he. 
His httle son was playing on the ground 
before him, planting broken genda flowers 
in the dirt. The father picked him up with 
a laugh. 

"Ah, we shall lift thee high, my boy, if 
our dream lies not. The di-eam, portion of 
my heart, the dream will make thee great. 
Thou wilt Hve in a great house with many 
servants and walk in gardens where more 
than gendas grow. Then wilt thou look 
down on thy old father, the Chamar, and 
laugh at him, even as thou art doing now." 
Jiwan Das shouted in exhultation. 

"Listen to the outcaste," laughed the 
voice within, a bitter laugh. "One would 
think he was a Brahman trained at Kashi 
to hear him talk. Thy son, man, will walk 
his lifelong behind the buffaloes, twisting 

157 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

their tails and thwacking their backbones 
with his bamboo staff. Such is my dream 
for him, the dream of a woman who knows." 

The father drew the son to his heart, and 
whispered low: "Child, the dream is our 
secret. It will make thee great. 'Tis not 
for ears of women. It is for men, and thou 
shalt hear it." 

He walked to the end of the courtyard, 
and into the ear of his infant son whispered 
long and low. Could you but have seen 
the face that moment of our villager and 
the smile of the three-year-old as though he 
understood ! 

The next afternoon it was the little 
daughter that was troubled. 

"Mother, where does our father go, leav- 
ing the field and the boy to you and me? 
Where is he now?" 

"Thy father, Parbati, is mad. Some evil 
spirit has possessed him. I have already 
given of my jewelry to the priest to rid 
him of the demon. He comes this very day, 
he has promised me, with powerful man- 
tras^ to speak over him. You must help 

' Incantations. 

158 



WHEN OUTCASTES DREAM 

me ere he comes to lay out the offerings. 
The gods are angry and so we starve." 

"But, mother, our father seems so sure — " 

"So mad! Hush, laundia!"^ 

Jiwan Das strode suddenly into the court- 
yard. He brought with him a stranger. 

"Be pleased to sit upon this cot. I will 
call my brothers. You shall speak to all 
of us. Your words will melt our hearts. It 
is an assurance of my dream." 

But the crowd had gathered akeady, won- 
dering who the man might be. 

"He is no Hindu of these parts, for he 
wears a beard. He is no Moslem either: 
see his Hindu cap! What can he be?" 

"See you not his books that he is drawing 
from his bag? He is some learned Pandit. 
Knows he not we are Chamars?" 

"His face is kindly, brothers. Let us 
hear him, sitting here, for he makes signs to 
speak to us." 

The stranger had risen, and the simple 
crowd bent forward to catch his every word. 

"I will sing you a song of the new age, 
a song of Ishwar's new incarnation, a song 

159 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

of great salvation, a song which men now 
sing through all of Hindustan. Would you 
hear it?" 

"Sing it," said they, "we hsten." 

And the stranger sang: 

"Jai, Prabhu Yishu, jai adhiraja, 
Jai, Prabhu, jai jaikari. 

"Pap nimit dukh laj uthai, 
Pran diyo balihari. 

"Tin dinon taba Yishu gora men 
Tija diwasa nihari." 

"Praise to Lord Yishu (Jesus); praise to the 
great King. 
Praise to the Lord; praise and rejoicings." 

"For sin he suffered pain and shame. 
His life he gave an offering. 

"Three days he lay within the grave. 
The third day he was seen again." 

"But what means the song? I will now 
explain it to you — " He was interrupted 
by a voice: 

"Munshiji, is there in your song nothing 
of making our children great? They walk 
behind the oxen now ; may they not ride be- 

160 



WHEN OUTCASTES DREAM 

hind them? From birth they are taught to 
fear; may they not learn to be unafraid? 
Honor is for Brahmans and high-caste men. 
Is there not for the son of the outcaste some 
share of wisdom and of wealth? Is it not 
so in your book there? I have dreamed — " 

The stranger paused a moment, then 
opened the book: 

"Your dream is true. There is such a 
word written here. The great Avatar of 
Ishwar, by name Yishu, took the children 
of certain lowly in his arms and he said: 
'Let these little children come unto me, and 
do not hold them back, for to such as these 
belongs the Raj of Ishwar.' " 

"Good," said the voice. "Now tell us 
what the Raj may be over which our chil- 
dren are to rule, if we become devotees of 
Yishu. Let us hear him, brothers. It is a 
great word. I have heard it already in my 
dream." 

And the stranger began: "It is not to 
men alone, but to women, and even to little 
children that this good news comes. It is 
written here," and he laid his finger on the 
opened page, "that in this Yishu when we 

161 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

take his sign upon us and name his name, 
it is as though we were awakened from 
long sleep. The night is passed away, the 
day is come. And in the light of this new 
day our children are to grow, to learn, to 
become great. I was born such as you. 
The name of Yishu has made me what I 
am—" 

Jiwan Das could restrain himself no 
longer. He rose in all his height. 

"We be simple people, Munshiji. We 
know less than babes. We are slow to com- 
prehend; we understand only in pictures. 
There is much we can never know. We 
hold together, living in the great biradari 
of our caste. It is hard to change our ways, 
the customs of our fathers. But your words 
are pulling us. They are as the sun break- 
ing through the rain-clouds. Send us then 
a teacher and we will learn." He hesitated, 
then spoke again more slowly: "As for me, 
I am ready. Give me the sign of Yishu." 

Till then no one had noticed the silent 
figure in the doorway with close-drawn 
chadar, her hand pressing hard upon her 
beating heart. Parbati, holding her brother 

162 



WHEN OUTCASTES DREAM 

on her hip, clung to the woman's skirts. 
Only now, when Jiwan Das had spoken, did 
they see her standing there, did they hear 
her scream, as if the evil demon had passed 
to her. They watched her beat her breasts 
and tear her hair. They saw her beyond all 
control. They heard the frantic cries of her 
frightened children. 

Jiwan Das stood staring at the door of 
his own home. 

"The dream said nothing of this. It was 
not in the dream. O Munshiji, what is there 
in those books of thine that tells of this?" 

The stranger hastily leafed the pages and 
ran his eye up and down the columns: 

"It is here. I have it now — the words 
of Yishu," and he traced the passage with 
his finger as he read, "Think not that I came 
to send — " 

He was interrupted by a solemn, sepul- 
chral voice, speaking slowly, sonorously, 
threateningly from beyond the entrance of 
the courtyard: 

"Am Hrim Krim 

Shrim Swaha " 

Jiwan Das and the stranger turned. 

163 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

There at a distance stood the old Brahman 
priest pouring out mantras,, incantations, 
magic words, a stream of them. The crowd 
scattered as sheep before the wolf. Who 
would be caught in those sacred syllables 
or those fierce curses? 

Now was the soul of Jiwan Das hard 
beset. The simple villager stood transfixed 
with fear. The words of incantation fell 
heavy upon him, and he reeled beneath their 
weight. 

"O Munshiji, quick, quick! Knowest 
thou no mantras from thy book?" 

The stranger was quick to respond, and 
he joined his voice to the confusion, speak- 
ing distinctly: 

"The InjiP is greater than the Vedas. 
Listen to the mantras of the Injil. They 
protect the Chamar from the Brahman. 'All 
authority hath been given unto me, and lo 
I am with you alway. . . . And ye shall be 
hated of all men for my name's sake, but 
he that endureth to the end he shall be saved. 
. . . And all things whatsoever ye shall ask 
in prayer beheving ye shall receive.' Jiwan 

> The Gospel. 

164 



WHEN OUTCASTES DREAM 

Das, let us ask : On that side, O Yishu, thou 
hearest the screams of his wife and chil- 
dren; on this side the incantations of his 
priest. They bear him down. In the power 
of the Injil, for the sake of his boy and the 
fulfillment of his dream, now hold him 
fast!" 

Jiwan Das smiled faintly, as victors smile 
after hard struggle. 

"It is enough. I shall name the name 
of Yishu in the hearing of the boy." 

That night they brought him to his home 
unconscious and talking wildly. His neigh- 
bors had waylaid him on his way back from 
a distant village, whither he had escorted the 
stranger home. 

"Seeing the mantras have failed, let us 
see what a bamboo latin can do in driving 
out evil spirits." They had made the test 
in the sugar cane fields and were watching 
the results. 

"Fear not. It takes hard hitting to drive 
out such spirits as possessed him," said one, 
sitting by his bedside. "They go not out 
by gentle strokes — " 

"He seems to talk more sensibly thus than 

165 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

when he is awake," said another. , "The 
beating is ah'eady doing good. See, he 
speaks of gods and priests." 

"Rejoice, woman! He is caUing for a 
priest. Thy man is better. Quick! Have 
the priest here! He is coming to his senses 
now. 'Twas the right remedy." 

"Priest! Priest! the Brahman Priest!" 
moaned the wounded man. 

"The priest is here, Jiwan Das. Speak! 
He can hear thee from his distance." 

Jiwan Das raised himself — his eyes were 
blazing : 

"Priest! Brahman Priest! My dream 
concerns thee. Thou hast heard of my 
dream? Woulds't know it? Thou shalt 
hear it. I am not afraid to tell it to thee. 
It is more powerful than thy mantras upon 
me. Listen." 

He was sitting bolt upright and breath- 
ing hard. 

"Thy son, Priest, committed murder. He 
was brought to trial. The Judge sat in his 
court. The Judge pronounced sentence 
upon thy son. It was a heavy sentence. 
And the Judge? Who was he? Ha! The 

166 



WHEN OUTCASTES DREAM 

Judge? Yea, the Judge? . . . The Judge 
was low-born, an outcaste. . . . The Judge 
was Chamar. . . . Thy son was Brahman. 
. . . The Judge was Christian. So I saw 
it in my dream. . . . The Judge was 
wealthy. The Judge was learned. The 
Judge was just. . . . The Judge was . . . 
the Judge, O Priest, was . . . my son!" 

He fell back exhausted. Men covered 
their eyes and shook with the terror of the 
moment. Jiwan Das faintly but distinctly 
took up his own words: 

"Let it be so. I am ready. Give me the 
sign of Yishu." 



167 



XI 

IN HIS BLINDNESS 

rpHEY were repairing the bridge over the 
-■■ Ganges Canal on the main high-road 
and it was with great impatience that I 
made the long detour. It was noon and 
I was hot, tired, and dusty, for I had ridden 
twenty miles that morning on my bicycle, 
and had preached in three villages where 
there were Christians. Here was a shady 
mango grove beside the road. Its challenge 
to stop and declare oneself its friend could 
not be resisted. Walking well into its shady 
depths, I leaned my bicycle against one tree 
and myself against another. My lunch was 
good. I had laid my head upon the book 
I carried with me and was just falling off 
into sleep when I heard a dull tap -tap -tap 
at no great distance. I turned my head and 
saw a blind man coming through the grove, 
his bamboo staff hitting the ground before 
him as he walked. Blind men are such com- 

168 



IN HIS BLINDNESS 

mon sights in India that I determined to 
let him pass without a word. He was evi- 
dently from the little village that lay half 
a mile behind the grove. I watched him as 
he came slowly on. He was an old man 
with long, white beard. There was an air 
of respectability about him. He was well 
dressed, wearing kurta, pajama, and pagri, 
an unusual combination for a blind man in 
a village. He was evidently no beggar. I 
began to be interested. As he drew nearer 
I noticed that each tap of his lathi was ac- 
companied by an ejaculation. I soon de- 
tected what it was: 

"Ai hamare Bap! Ai hamare Bap!" 
("Our Father! Our Father!") I wondered 
at it. "I have never heard that expression 
used before," thought I. "It is a queer 
colloquialism." 

Through the trees came the taps and the 
strange words and the blind man drew very 
near : 

"Ai hamare Bap! Ai hamare Bap! Ai 
hamare Bap!" 

I had not noticed that my bicycle lay in 
his path. He ran his staff against it, and 

169 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

it fell over with a loud noise. The old man 
stopped — terrified : 

"Ai hamare Bap jo asman par hai" ("Our 
Father who art in heaven"), fell from his 
trembling lips. 

I sat up as if struck a blow. 

The old man was kneeling beside the 
bicycle, his hands folded, his sightless eyes 
lifted as he prayed: 

"Hamare qusuron ko muaf kar." ("For- 
give us our trespasses.") 

Something held me still silent. I watched 
him closely. He did not know what he had 
done or how to repair the damage. Per- 
plexity covered his features. His staff lay 
on the ground. His hands groped over the 
wheels, the frame, the saddle. 

"What is it?" he pleaded, as if some one 
stood at his elbow. "Ai hamare Bap, what 
is it? I am old, I am blind, I am an igno- 
rant villager — how should I know what to 
do with it?" 

My heart was overflowing with pity and 
I opened my mouth to speak. But his words 
forced me back to silence. 

"Can it be? Can it be? Is it the An- 

170 




'What is it?' he pleaded, as if some one stood at 
his elbow" 



IN HIS BLINDNESS 

swer? After all these years is this the An- 
swer? At last the Answer? God be 
praised!" His face was hghted up: "For 
forty years I have been hungry, O so hun- 
gry! And every morning and every night 
I have prayed 'Hamari rozina ki roti aj 
hamen baksh de' ["Give us this day our 
daily bread"], bread to satisfy the hunger 
here," and he laid his withered trembling 
hand on his heart. "Is this the Answer? 
Does this bring the bread? Surely this is the 
handiwork of God!" His hands were finger- 
ing the spokes. "No man could ever make 
this. I have found the Answer." And 
stooping low he laid his forehead reverently 
upon the pedal and held the dusty chain in 
both his hands. 

His whole attitude was expectant, as if 
he were sure he had received the gift and 
yet understood it not. He needed some ex- 
planation of it. He was as Moses who saw 
the bush burning unconsumed, but as yet 
had heard no words that told him what it 
meant. 

I leaped to my feet. He heard the noise 
and turned his sightless eyes to me. Blind 

171 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

they were, but not without expression. I 
could see behind their drawn veils the fierce 
struggle for vision. He knew not what 
stood before him — God or angel or man. 
He would compel his eyes to tell him. 

Softly and slowly I spoke: 

"Bare Mian,^ your prayer is heard. I 
am sent with bread for thee. Sit up and I 
will share it with thee." 

He sat up. "You have brought the 
bread" — and he reached out both hands 
(hands covered with grease and grime) as 
if to receive it — 

"Not for your hands. Bare Mian, but for 
your heart! It is not bread of earth, but 
bread come down from heaven." 

"I know it. I was as a silly child. In 
my joy I forgot for the moment. But it is 
You who 'forgives us our trespasses.' " 

"It is not I who forgives, Bare Mian." 

The look of perplexity again stole over 
his face. 

"I know not what to call you." 

I hesitated, fearing a rude shock to his 
simple faith. "Bare Mian, call me Padri 

1 A title of respect, pronounced Burray Meeah. 
172 



IN HIS BLINDNESS 

Sahib. I am a missionary whom our heav- 
enly Father has sent this way." 

He caught at the word and his bhnd face 
broke into a smile. "It is the Answer! 
Padri Sahib! It was a Padri Sahib who 
forty years ago taught me the Lord's 
Prayer, and put the water on my head — 
here! That was in the days when I could 
see. I came back to my village and I lost 
my sight. I have been unable to find him 
since, though I go nearly every day through 
this grove and sit beside the road, hoping 
he or some other Padri Sahib may pass this 
way and speak to me sitting there. The 
Villagers laugh at me, thinking me very 
silly. The passers-by think I am come to 
beg, and drop their alms beside me. All this 
I can endure — their laughter and their pity 
— if in the end, before I die, I hear a Padri 
Sahib's voice." 

He paused a minute. "You are not my 
Padri Sahib. A blind man's ear is sharp. 
But you are his son whom he has sent in 
his stead." 

I hesitated — "What was his name. Bare 
Mian?" I asked him, timidly. 

173 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

He named a name. 

"I am his son; you have said right. In 
truth I am," I answered, proudly. 

The old man laid his forehead on his 
folded hands. "The answer to the hlind 
man's prayer is complete. 'Thine is the 
kingdom, and the power, and the glory.' " 
He lifted his head again. "And now for 
the bread, Padri Sahib." 

That grass}'^ spot beside the Sea of Gali- 
liee is found in all the world and men still 
feed the hungry there; the well of Samaria 
springs forth even in distant mango groves 
and there men give to those that ask for 
living w^ater. But such privilege of service 
is reserved for those whom the King de- 
lights to honor. For three long hours I 
was the honored one that day. 

"Look, Bare Mian" (I had forgotten I 
was dealing with a blind man), "the smi is 
half down the heaven. I have been long 
with you. I have here bread that I must 
break to-night to other hungry ones. They 
will have waited hours when I reach them. 
I must go." 

"Hours, Padri Sahib? 'What are hours? 

174 



IN HIS BLINDNESS 

I have waited forty years. Let them wait. 
They will be the hungrier and eat more 
heartily. I am not yet filled — so great was 
my emptiness." 

I rose to go. "Bare Mian, one must not 
let little children suffer for want of bread. 
These I go to are little ones, Christians only 
a year, and faint from hunger." 

He took the end of his beard in his hand 
and held it up trembhng. "Padri Sahib, 
let not this white beard of mine deceive 
you. I too am nothing but a child." 

"I have many children," I said, "and I 
must feed them all. Some are very small, 
smaller, than you. You can walk, Bare 
Mian; for forty years you have kept from 
falling." 

"True, Padri Sahib. I totter along with 
my two staffs in the two darknesses, one for 
each darkness. I am doubly bhnd, you 
know." 

"I do not understand." 

"You see it is like this, Padri Sahib. In 
the one darkness I tap-tap along with a 
bamboo staff; in the other I tap-tap along 
with the Lord's Prayer, which is all I know. 

175 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

With my staffs I am ever sounding out the 
ways of life." 

"Remember what I have told you to-day. 
Bare Mian. That will give you light along 
your path when I am gone. I have many 
others — " 

"When you are gone? Many others? 
Are they bhnd and neglected and left ex- 
posed to die as I am? There is a story — 
how often I have tried to tell it to others, 
but I have forgotten its ending, Padri 
Sahib. My neighbors are ever asking me 
if I remember it. It is of a lamb that was 
lost in the darkness, and the man whose 
lamb it was left his many others. That is 
as far as I get with it. Tell me, Padri Sahib, 
was the lamb in the darkness found? Did 
the man whose lamb it was feed it and leave 
it there, saying he had other lambs to feed 
and could not stay longer? Did the lamb 
in the darkness bleat after him when he was 
gone? Tell me the story, Padri Sahib." 

It was hard to get away from him. I sat 
down again. "Listen, Bare Mian, I will 
tell you the story and then I must go. It is 
getting night." 

176 



IN HIS BLINDNESS 

"Was the man whose lamb it was afraid 
of the night? Was it only the little lamb 
that grew accustomed to darkness?" 

"Bare Mian, you do not understand. You 
see this is an out of-the-way village — " 

"Was the httle lamb lost on the high- 
road then, Padri Sahib, in a place easy to 
find? Why, then, was it lost so long? But 
I have forgotten the story and sit here 
silently to hear it told once more." 

I told the simple story and the tears rolled 
down the blind man's face. When I came 
to the shepherd lifting the lamb on his 
shoulder he broke into sobs and stopped me, 
exclaiming — 

"The lamb was found and lifted from 
the darkness! For forty years sitting by 
the roadside I have prayed that that might 
be the ending of the story. So the lamb was 
really hfted from the darkness! It is 
enough!" 

His heart was full. He had all he could 
contain. I waited for his word to go on. 
Ere it came a look of horror overspread his 
face: 

"The shepherd did not set him down 

177 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

again, did he? Tell me it all. My prayer 
is not yet answered." 

I finished the story. 

"O Padri Sahib, if I had only known the 
ending all these forty years, how much more 
quietly I should have waited in the darkness 
for the Shepherd. For forty years I had 
feared the lamb was lost." 

I rose again. 

"The end of the story has given me 
strength to have you go, for the Shepherd 
kept the lamb upon his shoulder. The lamb 
was not lost again, you say?" 

"It was not lost again," I repeated. 

We walked out to the road. He was a 
different man now — youth and sight seemed 
to have returned to him. 

"Let me go ahead, Padri Sahib, and show 
you the way. There are many trees. Be 
careful lest you stumble. I would carry 
that which brought the Answer — I know 
not what to call it — if I knew where to take 
hold—" 

"It is heavy, Bare Mian." 

"But I am strong to-day, Padri Sahib. 
I have had bread, you know." 

178 



IN HIS BLINDNESS 

"It runs itself, Bare Mian, with just a 
touch now and then." 

"With just a touch now and then? Then 
it is hke our village, Padri Sahib. So might 
we run ourselves along the ways of God 
with just a touch now and then." 

"Your village. Bare Mian? Does your 
village know anything of truth?" 

"It knows the Lord's Prayer. For forty 
years the children have learned it from me. 
When you return, Padri Sahib, with the 
help now of the story, I shall have it ready 
for the water. And you need not be spar- 
ing of water, for our wells are deep. I 
shall hold the vessel — that will be my privi- 
lege — like this I will hold it." 

He stopped and turned, laughing in his 
excitement, as some child in eager expecta- 
tion of some great event. 

"But what if you stumble. Bare Mian, 
and spill the water?" 

"Then the ground will be baptized, and 
all will be Christian, Padri Sahib." 

I bade him farewell, promising to send 
some one from my pitifully small body of 
native helpers, and to return myself some 

179 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

time within a year. With his forehead on 
his folded hands he stood till I was gone. 
As I rode off I heard him shout in a shrill, 
sharp voice to some toiler in a near-by field : 
"Ram Lai! The lamb was found, Ram 
Lai! the lamb of the story was found!" 



180 



XII 

WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

TT was the peculiar Persian pattern of her 
-■• chadar that had first attracted my at- 
tention. Its unusual colors and the grace- 
fulness of its folds over her head and 
shoulders had caught my eye as I stepped 
from the train at Muttra. 

I had come for a day with my camera in 
that ancient stronghold of Hinduism. Long 
before the day was over I had used up all 
my plates. Who would not, in Muttra? 

It was then, just inside the magnificent 
Harding gateway, in the midst of that 
bazaar of never-ending interest, that I 
caught sight again of the young Hindu 
woman with the pretty Persian pattern on 
her veil. 

I was about to start for the mission house 
to rest and write awhile, but a new idea 
came to me. Why not follow this woman, 
as she went along through the crowded 
bazaar, and see what she would do? It was 

181 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

not an impulse springing from mere curi- 
osity; there was a real desire for a more 
intimate knowledge of the people. I knew 
the language — I could understand all that 
I might hear. 

My decision was quickly made, and I 
turned back and took up the trail. There 
was no danger of anyone knowing what I 
was doing, for the bazaar was thronged 
with people — almost like Fifth Avenue in 
New York at luncheon time. I did not feel 
as if I were intruding. I was ready, how- 
ever, for an experience. It came — I never 
spent a more illuminating day. 

Together let us follow the Hindu woman. 

She stopped in a short time at a little box 
of a shop, measuring about five by eight 
feet, where were displayed all manner of 
boys' caps, made mostly of white muslin, 
embroidered with gold tinsel. She picked 
them over for a while, hesitated over one 
of the more elaborately embroidered ones, 
and finally bought it. She passed on, and 
holding it up extended on her outstretched 
fingers, exclaimed aloud to herself: "How 
fine it would look on his head!" 

182 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

Just then all unnoticed a monkey ran 
along the edge of a veranda, jumped on the 
branch of a nim tree that overhung the nar- 
row street, and, swinging down, snatched 
the cap from her hand. The next instant 
he was back on the top of an adjoining 
portico, where he sat and deliberately tore 
the little cap into bits, flinging them down 
into the street. 

The woman had given a startled cry as 
the monkey grabbed the cap, and now she 
stood in the midst of the crowd that had 
stopped to watch the monkey. It was a 
matter of passing interest. Muttra is full 
of monkeys — "sacred monkeys," incarna- 
tions, as it were, of Hanuman, the great 
monkey-god. They are a pest in the city, 
breaking down cornices, loosening bricks 
and mortar on the parapets of houses, break- 
ing window panes, destroying latticework, 
uprooting flowers and vegetables in the gar- 
dens, and in themselves a perfect nuisance. 
The shopkeepers suffer most at their mis- 
chievous, impudent hands, for the wares are 
always open to display on the stalls front- 
ing the street. Up above, on the verandas, 

183 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

arc the monkeys, ever alert, watching their 
chance to shde down a post or pillar and 
make off with a handful of grain, sweet- 
meats, or anything else fancied by the impu- 
dent creatures. 

A Hindu can swear at a monkey, he can 
threaten it. He might dare to go so far 
as to hit one. He cannot go further to rid 
himself of one of these "gods"! The imagi- 
nation does not go so far as to think of 
sliooting one! His anger, kindled for the 
moment, will turn ultimately into philoso- 
phy. 

"Remember Hanuman, the great god, my 
daughter," said a pious old merchant who 
had witnessed the affair of the cap, "and be 
content with the trifling loss." 

The crowd moved on. The monkey had 
been making suitable grimaces during his 
work of destruction; and he sent his part- 
ing shot at me, as I leveled the camera at 
him! He would have had my scalp, had 
he dared! 

As the woman moved on, I heard her 
mutter: "Is it a bad omen?" 

I did not know then what she hftd in mind. 

184 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

Almost immediately, however, she got a 
chance to counteract the apparently unto- 
ward event. 

A Hindu faqir, tall, strong, and well fed, 
came down the street, leading an unusually 
small cow. The level of its back was not 
more than three feet from the ground. But 
the most striking thing about it was a queer 
deformity. High up on one side toward 
the front, there grew from the body two 
short misshapen legs. The hoofs were on 
them, dangling half way down to the 
ground. 

The faqir had stopped just before the 
woman came up. He was talking to a small 
group of passers-by. 

"Put your money right here," said he, in- 
dicating the spot where the extra legs took 
their start. "It will please Mahadeo, whose 
blessings will be showered on you. What 
a chance to do a meritorious thing in our 
great Muttra!" 

The woman had heard his words. 

"Will it bring good luck?" she asked, 
timidly, as she approached the faqir. 

"Luck!" exclaimed the ash-smeared 

185 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

rascal. "It, will turn bad luck into good, or 
good luck into bad, just as I may please 1" 
He had sized up his victim. 

She deposited two copper coins on the 
"sacred spot," and the faqir said to her, 
"How much iuck' can you get with two 
pice, O woman ! Make that silver, and your 
chances are quadrupled!" 

His countenance was grave. She hesi- 
tated a moment, then added to the copper 
coins a silver coin worth four times as much. 
The faqir muttered an unintelligible bless- 
ing, and started for his next dupe. 

The woman moved on down the street. 

She stopped shortly at the shop of a con- 
fectioner, whose wares — many of them 
coated with silver foil beaten by hand to 
an amazing thinness — were attractively dis- 
played. She bought some peras, for which 
I knew Muttra was justly famous. I could 
have eaten the peras myself, but for the flies 
that swarmed in myriads from the open 
drain that ran reeking with filth right under 
the framework of a counter on which were 
piled the pyramids of sweets. That drain 
was appalling to an American, even though 

186 




bo 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 



he had lived in India nearly his whole 
life! 

The woman turned into an alley and went 
up the road that led along the river bank. 




A little distance up this quaint street, under 
a scrubby pipal tree was a group of men 
and women. Coming up to them I saw an 
ascetic. He was seated amidst his four 
sacred fires, kept smoldering by means of 
the fuel cakes of gohar (cow-dung mixed 
with straw). I gathered from the con- 
versation of several pilgrims in the group 
that he had been rather rudely awakened 
from sleep by the falling of a piece of a 

187 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

dead limb from the pipal tree. It had 
broken under the weight of a monkey, and 
fallen on one of his fires from which a live 
coal had been knocked over on to his leg. 
Apparently, he either did not accept or un- 
derstand the explanation. 

Idle curiosity caused the woman to push 
her way to the inner edge of the circle. 

The faqir caught sight of her and ex- 
claimed, "May the curse of the gods be upon 
thee!" 

The woman stood as if paralyzed, while 
the faqir continued, apparently to the on- 
lookers; "What does she in Muttra any- 
way? Always it is a woman that is at the 
bottom of a man's troubles!" 

He had relieved himself by this outburst, 
and turned to replenish the fires of his self- 
torture ; but the poor woman was trembling 
with fear under the sudden and so unex- 
pected imprecation of the "holy one." 

She fell on her knees at his feet. 

"O, Maharaj," she wailed, "pardon the 
fault of thy slave! Truly, I did not under- 
stand. I own my guilt — I should not have 
dared to interrupt thy holy meditations by 

188 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

idly thrusting myself before thee. We are 
so slow to learn the ways of the holy!" 

She had no slightest idea of any injus- 
tice done to herself. She did not know what 
had caused the curse to descend upon her. 
She was just a woman — she should not have 
dared to approach the sacred person of the 
devoted faqir in such a spirit of reprehensi- 
ble curiosity. But the curse must be un- 
done! 

She prostrated herself at the feet of the 
ash-smeared, high and mighty, stern and 
offended "holy one." He affected not to 
see her. She crawled nearer, took hold of 
his feet around the ankles and kissed them 
repeatedly. 

"Pardon — forgiveness — mercy, O holy 
Sadhu!" she moaned. "Terrible is the 
weight of thy most righteous curse. I am 
only a woman — I wist not what I did — I 
cannot bear the awful burden of thy just 
but fearful anathema!" 

He drew back his feet with impatience, 
and left her kissing the ground in her grief 
and terror. The poor woman was almost 
distracted. If there was any sympathy 

189 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

among the numerous onlookers, fear of the 
eru'aged faqir kept it baek. True, he was 
no genuine Saclhu who woukl thus be of- 
fended by any untoward event. Even if 
the accident were the result of malice, the 
very profession of a Sadhu should have 
enabled him to bear with either hurt or in- 
sult. This fellow was a rogue, a charlatan; 
but even so, there was no one minded to 
run the risk of his curse. Who knew but 
that he had acquired special merit from the 
gods by self-torture, and could blast the 
fairest prospects of anyone now daring to 
interfere. After all, why had the woman 
crowded to the front in that !)old fashion? 
Was the curse not deserved? Had she not 
brought it upon herself? 

My American spirit could not endure the 
scene. I was touched by the woman's genu- 
ine terror, and incensed at the faqir's cruel 
attempt to "save his face," I stepped up 
before him, and said in Hindustani: 

"O, Sadhu ji, tlie woman is not at fault 
— we all arc witness here. Her petition is 
just. Unsay tlic curse!" 

I had drawn his lire. He fastened his 

190 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

eyes upon me, and gave an unusually loud 
cough, as if seeking to bring himself fully 
to alertness. 

"So it is you, the white-faced foreigner, 
who is at the bottom of it all!" he exclaimed, 
and then, catching sight of my camera, 
added, "with your infernal new-fangled 
machine, that will yet be the undoing of all 
that is sacred in our great Hindustan!" 

lie looked at me steadily, with a de- 
tei'mined penetration, and 1 realized that he 
sought to intimidate me by his stare. It was 
a duel! I stared back unflinchingly. He 
was trying to hypnotize me by his look. The 
facjirs all deal with the occult and mystical. 
1 set my jaws with grim determination, 
and looked down into the depths of his eyes. 
Neither of us stirred. The crowd became 
silent, wondering what would come next. 
It came from the Sadhu — I was determined 
that it should. 

"I transfer the curse to youl" he ex- 
claimed. This brought the woman to a sit- 
ting posture. 

"And I," said I, (leli})erately and with 
all the solemnity 1 could muster, "can bear 

191 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

your curse unmoved. Its weight is like the 
feather's on the strong wing of the eagle. 
It gives added strength to battle with the 
elements!" 

I awaited the effect of these words and 
soon saw a look of apprehension steal into 
his face. I knew he was unequal to the 
situation, and so I added, with a tone of 
magnanimity : 

"And I will show you the heart of a true 
Sadhu, one who has given up all for the 
sake of your own fair Hindustan. I give 
you my blessing in return for your curse. 
May the peace that the world can neither 
give nor take away come into your life. 
May the light that shines more fair and 
bright than Indra's beams on the snow- 
white breast of Himachal enlighten your 
dark path. May the power that comes from 
the anointing of the Almighty God be upon 
you, and turn your weakness into strength." 

The man felt the melting heat of the coals 
of fire thus heaped on his head. My words 
had doubtless caused to leap up within him 
an admiration for one who could return a 
blessing for a curse — and a blessing of such 

192 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

magnitude, couched in terms to him so new ! 
He turned to the crowd and said: 

"The gods themselves could not curse such 
a one! The Sahib is a true Sadhu. The 
Sadhu reveres the Sadhu." 

He had saved his face! He replenished 
his fires with some more fuel cakes and, 
turning toward the river, plunged in medi- 
tation. 

The incident was closed. The crowd 
moved on, their faith in Sadhus unshaken! 
I took up the trail of the Persian pattern. 
The woman had continued along the river 
road. 

"What is the tower?" I heard her asking 
of a group of Bengali widows, on a pil- 
grimage to Muttra, eight hundred miles 
from home. 

"That," repHed one of the widows, as she 
turned wistful eyes on the tower of brown 
sandstone, "is the Sati tower, erected in 
lasting remembrance of the good women of 
bygone days who here in Muttra mounted 
the funeral pyres of their husbands and 
ended noble hves by glorious deaths!" 

"The Sarcar [government] is kind in its 

193 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

thought in passing a law against Sati," said 
another of the widows, "but it would be 
easier to die once for all than to know the 
living death that is oursl" 

"You speak foolishly," replied a third. 
"You burn your hand the way I accidentally 
did not long ago, and then let us see how 
ready you are for the flames of the Sati!" 

"I dread such pain too," said the woman 
I was following, "but how many problems 
it would solve for some!" 

I took it she was depressed after her ex- 
perience with the sadhu. Her clothes and 
jewelry showed she was not a widow, but 
I thought she felt the burden of being just 
a woman. It is a burden prepared by 
Hindu men and Hindu law for all Hindu 
womankind. The time draws near when the 
burden is to be lifted. 

She moved on up the street. In an angle 
formed by a little temple and an adjoining 
shop lay a faqir on a bed of spikes. At the 
foot of the wooden platform that bore the 
iron spikes was a place for the offerings of 
passers-by. A number of copper and a few 
silver coins were in evidence. To these she 

194 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

added two pice, and moved on without a 
word. 

"How long have you been on this bed of 
spikes?" I asked the faqir, a man with a 
white beard, between fifty and sixty years 
old. He deigned no reply. 




"The holy one is meditating. Sahib," said 
his young disciple, barely twenty years of 
age, covered with ashes, seated beside his 
guru (master). "I have heard him tell 
others," he continued, "that he has spent 
thirty years thus." 

No one thought it strange. Beds of spikes 

195 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

are as common in India as beds of roses in 
America ! 

I would have continued the conversation, 
but my Persian pattern was almost out of 
sight in the crowd ahead. 

The afternoon had now drawn to a close 
— the hour of evening worship had come. 
The temple courts were thronged, the 
temple bells were ringing. The pilgrims 
filled the streets, the little shops were busy 
selling doles of rice, oil, ghee, powdered 
paint, flowers, and the many small neces- 
sities of the devotees who seemed eager to 
carry out to the letter the instructions of 
the priests. 

The woman seemed tired, and seated her- 
self on the stone steps that lead down to the 
river from this street along the bank of the 
stream. It gave me another opportunity 
to watch the crowd of worshipers. 

Quite close to us I noticed a group of 
five — ignorant, village folk — going through 
the absurd minutia of the formula of 
prayers for the souls of their deceased loved 
ones. With what a simj)le and eager faith 
they followed the strange directions of the 

196 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

priest! They thought of the benefit to the 
spirits of the departed, he only of the fees! 
How cold and callous he had become! 

Many pilgrims who had come too late in 
the day to bathe earlier in the sacred stream 
were now going through the forms of cere- 
monial purification. There is a woman tak- 
ing the three sacred dips in one breath. 
Yonder is a man pouring out water as a 
libation to the gods. Here is a group, waist 
deep in the water, muttering prayers under 
the guidance of a priest. 

Men selling garlands of marigolds and 
jasmine are going to and fro among the 
bathers and worshipers offering their fra- 
grant wares for sale. The gods always love 
flowers! Look at yonder stone image of 
the elephant-headed Ganesh, loaded with 
wreaths of the yellow gendas and white 
chamhelis. See, the attendant at the shrine 
is putting another flowery necklace over the 
willing head of the god of wisdom. He is 
doing it for the youth who stands close by 
with the palms of his hands joined in sup- 
plication. He is doubtless a student in some 
school. The time of the annual examina- 

197 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

tion is drawing nigh, and he is anxious to 
have the support of the god of wisdom in 
his uncertain scholastic effort. Yes, the 
priest will go through some special prayers, 
if the proper offerings are made! 'Tis 
wondrous indeed how offerings to the gods 
fit in with the needs of those who minister 
at their shrines! 

The fat and jolly halwai (confectioner) 
who passes is devoted to Lakhshmi, the god- 
dess of wealth. Why dote on the god of wis- 
dom when the gods have akeady bestowed 
on you sense enough to acquire bags full 
of rupees, and wisdom enough to enjoy the 
fine flour, ghee and sweets that the skill of 
the gods themselves have enabled you to 
combine in such delicious fashion! 'Tis all 
the same, whether one follows the solemn 
Ganesh, the blood-thirsty Kali, or the hand- 
some Sri Krishna, who in the most pleasing 
form of all took incarnation here in Muttra, 
making the city world renowned by his 
knavish tricks as a boy and his fondness for 
the pretty gopis (shepherdesses) when 
grown up. True, the priests, the modern 
devotees of Krishna in his own native city, 

198 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

did not have the gopis, but was there any 
lack of "daughters of the gods" in the temple 
cloisters! Halwai and priest met and 
passed: each understood the other. 

The woman was interested in watching 
the turtles. They swarm in the river, espe- 




cially along this bank with its temples and 
worshipers. The turtle is sacred too, and 
the pilgrims feed them. It is one of the 
best known direct methods of feeding the 
gods! After a while the woman got up, 
walked across the street to a little tempo- 
rary shop, tucked in between two shrines, 
and bought a few coppers' worth of popped 

199 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

rice — the same thing that forms one of our 
*'new" breakfast foods in America, eaten 
in India by men, monkeys, and turtles be- 
fore America was on the map of the world. 
She returned to the river and flung hand- 
fuls of the white flakes into the water along 
the steps. In an instant they were snapped 
down by the waiting turtles. I thought of 
"Cast thy bread upon the waters," but I 
knew there could be no "finding" of this 
bread again! 

She mounted the steps and proceeded up 
the river road. Where an alley entered it 
on the left from the city, a faqir had found 
room enough to spread out a bit of blanket, 
on one end of which stood a carved wooden 
image of Krishna. His body was painted 
the rich blue to which the god is partial, 
and he was shown playing the flute, in his 
usual attitude, standing on one foot. The 
man in charge of the idol held aloft with 
his left hand a big gong which he pounded 
vigorously with a mallet in his right hand. 
Meantime, he eloquently invited the noble- 
minded passers-by to deposit their offerings 
to Sri Krishna on the other end of the 

200 




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"We had reached the great temple that . . . opens 
out ... on to the river" 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

blanket. His efforts had not been in vain, 
for there was a sprinkhng of coins on the 
spot of advantage. To this store the woman 
added a few coppers. She seemed to leave 
nothing undone that a pious Hindu woman 
could do. In everything she had done thus 
far I had noted an earnestness and sincerity 
that compelled my admiration. 

By this time we had reached the great 
temple that fronts the main street of the 
city on one side, and on the other opens 
out with a spacious paved court on to the 
river. Here every evening at dusk is cele- 
brated the now rare service of the Arthi^ the 
fire-worship. I had seen it once before, and 
wondered if the woman would stay for it. 

The sun was down now, and the short 
Indian twilight would soon pass into dark- 
ness. Preparations for the Arthi were under 
way, but there was time for the beautiful 
ceremony of sending httle lighted floats 
down the river. 

The woman went to a man seated in a 
sort of balcony to one side of the court of 
the temple, and from him she purchased 
three things. One was a queer httle raft, 

201 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

about nine by six inches, made of pieces of 
coarse, stiff straw. This cost one pice (half 
a cent). Then she purchased three saucer- 
like clay dishes for another pice, and for two 
pice got enough crude mustard oil to fill the 
dishes. A cotton dip for each dish came 
free with the oil. With these things in her 
hands she asked for the services of one of 
the priests, and together they went down 
the steps to the river's edge. The dishes 
were put on the little raft, and the wicks 
were hghted from the sacred fire within the 
temple. Mystic words of incantation were 
murmured, and then the frail craft was 
launched and gently pushed out into the 
current. It was bearing some message to 
the unseen world, and however indifferent 
the priest or the general company of on- 
lookers, there was one that watched with 
emotion as the tiny raft made its precarious 
way down the stream. The woman stood, 
peering into the dusk, her whole thought on 
the life of her tiny raft. 

Many other worshipers were setting 
adrift similar little lights, and the river 
afforded a beautiful sight. Altogether, I 

202 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

thought I had never watched any scene of 
Hindu worship that struck me as being so 
quaint and attractive. Far down the stream 
the flickering hghts could be seen. A barge 
that was being forced up the river by means 
of long poles pushed against the bottom of 
the stream, made straight for a squadron of 
the little rafts among which was the one 
that the woman was watching. The boat 
bumped into some of the rafts and sank 
them. Hers escaped, and she gave an 
exclamation of relief. She was like a child 
in her solicitude for it. But she was to be 
disappointed, for the wavelets started by 
the barge struck the little messenger of light, 
and the next instant its tiny flame disap- 
peared. 

The incident was a most ordinary one — 
but not for her. This was her first visit to 
Muttra, evidently, and she took everything 
very seriously. Also she was young and 
inexperienced. The sinking of her "light 
ship" troubled her, and again she spoke 
aloud to herself: "I wonder — is it a bad 
omen?" 

The crowd was beginning to surge in for 

203 



IxNDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

the Arthi worship. The woman, to escape 
the throng, had seated herself at the end of 
an outer balcony of the temple court that 
extended on each side toward the river. I 
had had previous experience of the jostling 
of the multitude at the hour of the Arthi, 
and so I hailed a bargeman who was loiter- 
ing near with the hope of being hired to 
take a load of passengers up or down 
stream, or possibly across to the villages on 
the other bank. I was not intending to 
leave yet — the barge would give me the 
best opportunity of seeing the Arthi. 

My interest in the woman had greatly in- 
creased because of what I had seen her go 
through during the afternoon. I wondered 
now if she would share in the fire worship. 

The scene before me was this: A large 
temple in the background, with extensions 
to the right and left, forming a kind of 
courtyard on the river front. The inclosed 
space was paved with stones, the outer edge 
descending with a flight of steps to the 
river's edge. In the middle of the court, but 
on the side nearest the water, was a stone 
table of the ordinary height, about four by 

204 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

six feet. From the corners of this, but al- 
lowing some space between, rose six carved 
stone pillars, on whose tops rested heavy 
stone beams. From these were suspended 
several bells of various size. 

When the time of the celebration of the 
Arthi had arrived, three priests appeared 
from the temple and began ringing the 
bells. The ringing was continuous, unlike 
any temple bells I had heard during the 
day. The sounds jarred, and there was an 
insistency about the ringing that was likely 
to get on one's nerves. With the continual 
appeal of the bells, the crowd surged in. 
The river road, along which we had come, 
emptied directly into the temple courtyard. 

I bade the bargeman push up close to the 
stone steps so that I might get a better view. 
The people on the steps were coming and 
going, some late comers even now perform- 
ing their little religious ceremonies. But 
it was not all religion with those at the 
water's edge. Some washed their feet, some 
rinsed out travel- stained garments, some 
"brushed" their teeth, using their fingers 
and Hberal quantities of powdered charcoal. 

205 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

Some filled their lotas with the sacred water, 
and others drank it. In the midst of it 
all the slimy turtles kept moving around, 
snapping at bits of food floating on the 
surface. It was a strange sight! Where, 
but in India, could one find its like? 

Meantime the temple bells kept up their 
clangor. The waiting multitudes crowded 
the courts and filled the balconies. Then 
the bells ceased, and through the crowd 
came a priest, bearing aloft a flaming 
metalhc candlestick, with several circular 
platforms, one rising above another. On 
the outer edge of each of these were several 
little receptacles for oil, in which were burn- 
ing cotton wicks. He came to the stone 
table, which he mounted and, facing the 
river, went through a series of fantastic 
wavings. It was a weird scene — the deep- 
ening shadows upon the temple in the back- 
ground, the strange, expectant figures that 
waited behind the priest, the dark current 
of the river lapping the sides of my barge. 

When the ceremony of waving and incan- 
tations was over, the priest placed the flam- 
ing candlestick on the table, while he and 

206 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

two other priests took their stand beside 
the table. 

"Come forward now, and get the touch 
of the sacred fire," exclaimed one of the 
priests, "but bring your offerings with you," 
he added, "and place them on the table." 

The crowd surged forward. Their en- 
thusiasm was refreshing, and I gave myself 
up to a study of the scene. Each one, on 
approaching the table, dropped some offer- 
ing of money at the base of the candlestick, 
and then passed a hand rapidly through the 
flames. The devotee then touched his fore- 
head with his hand. This was done three 
times by each one — unless the crowd pushed 
the worshiper past the fire before all three 
touches could be secured. In that case one 
touch would suffice. This became increas- 
ingly the case as the multitude behind be- 
came the more eager to reach the fire. 

I noticed the faces of the people. There 
were pilgrims, men and women, who had 
journeyed far on foot to spend a few days 
among the far-famed shrines and temples 
of Muttra. Here came a group of hard- 
headed farmers, men for whom this was one 

207 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

of the crowning experiences of life, for 
which they had planned and saved for many- 
years. There were many widows among 
the crowd, poor, broken creatures, with their 
coarse garments and short-chpped hair. 
What tales of misery, cruelty, and degrada- 
tion could those uncomplaining lips tell if 
they would speak! 

I looked at the priests. The face of one, 
the leader, was keen and strong, but hard, 
unrelenting. Another looked cunning, but 
weakly sensual. The third showed pure 
animal. 

The crowd did not move along fast 
enough to suit the chief of the priests: the 
flames of the Arthi would die down before 
all the devotees had had an opportunity to 
reach the table! The offerings would be 
reduced. A company of slow village folk 
who took an unduly long time in getting 
the touch of the sacred fire, yet deposited 
but little money — all copper — tried his 
patience beyond endurance. Repeatedly 
had he and his fellow priests urged the 
crowds to increase their offerings and ac- 
celerate their steps. It would require more 

208 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

than exhortations! I saw him reach down 
under the table and take a long piece of 
cloth, probably a turban not then in use. 
This he tied at one end into several large 
knots, and began to use it in savage style, 
laying it across the backs and shoulders of 
those who happened to offend him. 

"Move on, you wretch!" he shouted at a 
young villager who, apparently overpow- 
ered by his emotions as he took the touch 
of the sacred fire upon him, forgot to heed 
the injunctions for speed. The knotted 
pugri descending on his shoulders brought 
him quickly to a realization that his feet 
were still upon the earth! Strangely 
enough, he did not realize that the priests 
looked on the people almost as so many 
cattle ! 

It was at this time that my eyes wandered 
over the crowd, and I caught sight of the 
woman in the Persian pattern. She was 
back on the outer edge of the throng, mak- 
ing her way down toward the table. She 
came slowly, but as eager to reach the fire 
as any. When she came nearer I noticed a 
woman next to her who was carrying a baby. 

209 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

The mother was quite short in stature, and 
apparently frail. The two were talking to- 
gether. As they finally neared the table, I 
saw the mother hand the child to the other 
woman. 

By this time the fires were burning low, 
and the throng pressed closer than ever to 
get the undoubted benefit of a touch of the 
sacred flame. There was no time now for 
the desired three touches. The two women 
whom I was watching were rudely jostled. 
The mother made a dart with her hand at 
the fire and barely reached it. The other 
was stronger and more determined. She 
passed her hand through the fire and touched 
her forehead, but before she was beyond 
reach she managed another coveted touch. 
This time she carried her hand to the baby 
and touched his forehead. 

It was a beautiful thing. The whole scene 
had deeply impressed me, and made me real- 
ize anew the passionate yearning of the 
ordinary man or woman of India for all that 
is bound up with existence in the life be- 
yond. What mighty things are in store 
for India when her sons and daughters have 

210 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

found the true Light, have felt the touch 
of the real Fire from on high! 

The tender thoughtfulness of the woman 
for the Httle child had deeply touched me. 
I admired her more than ever. On the 
outer edge of the crowd she placed the baby 
in its mother's arms, and the latter moved 
on. The woman waited. The throng was 
melting away. The flames of the Arthi 
had died down. I stepped from the barge 
on to the flight of steps, and followed the 
priests up toward the temple. It was now 
almost dark, and only a few worshipers 
remained. 

The woman addressed one of the priests. 

"Maharaj," she said, "I am a woman in 
distress and need thy help." 

"In distress!" he exclaimed. *'Hast thou 
not joined, then, in the Arthi worship?" 

"Yes, but the touch of the fire does not 
heal the sorrow of my heart. Most holy 
one," she said, joining the palms of her 
hands together in supplication, "I am a 
childless wife. Is there help from the gods 
for me?" 

Then I understood her remark about the 

211 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

boy's cap she had bought. Then I recalled 
her apprehension lest there should be bad 
luck in aiiy of the happenings of the day. 
I remembered her readiness to do every- 
thing she could to win the favor of the 
devotees and their gods. She perhaps was 
imagining she carried her own child in her 
arms at the Arilii worship! 

"Hast thou proved thy earnestness to the 
gods?" he asked. "Hast backed up thy 
petitions with gifts?" He was thinking of 
the fees that might be forthcoming. 

"I have taken long and weary pilgrim- 
ages. I went once to Puri, and paid much 
to gaze upon the lotus-face of Jagannath. 
I visited the shrines at Adjudhiya to win 
the favor of Ram, who showed such deep 
love for his faithful Sita. The answer of 
the gods has been only silence." 

Another of the priests spoke up. 

"Hast thou invoked the favor of our Lord 
Krishna of Muttra?" 

"I came but this day," she replied. "I 
seek those who can help me to the favor of 
the adored Sri Krishna." 

The second man evidently thought of her 

212 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

money. His glance was on the silver 
anklets, the costly bracelets, and the silver 
ornaments that decked her neck and ears. 
Many such costly ornaments had found their 
way to his hand via the gods ! 

"Make sure thy case here with Lord 
Krishna, but withhold not the silver and the 
gold that so delight his heart. He hears 
the better when the tinkle of coins and 
jewehy is in his ears." 

The third priest took up the conversation. 
He it was whom I have called "all animal"! 

"Thou art fair of form and face, and art 
young besides," said he. "The gods them- 
selves are not indifferent to such things in 
their petitioners! Sri Krishna loved to look 
upon the beauty of the gopis. Methinks he 
had an eye for youthful comeliness if any 
ever had! Thy plea is surer far, since thou 
art favored by the gods with beauty. Take 
courage fresh, and approach in hope the 
sacred precincts." 

He turned to the other priests. 

"Say ye not, O reverend companions, that 
now the hour has struck for the prayers of 
all her past to be answered, here at last?" 

213 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

"Ay," replied the first, who bore the still 
warm Arthi candlestick, "she nears at length 
the haven of her desires." 

The other continued his theme. 

"The ways of the gods are known best 
to those who hve most near them. We 
dwell within the shadows of these temples, 
we can assure thee. Come now with us. 
Spend but a night within the holy precincts 
of these cloisters, and thy petition shall be 
granted, or — the gods themselves are im- 
potent!" 

They started toward the entrance to the 
temple inclosure. She hesitated, and then 
followed them. I do not think she under- 
stood the import of the words of the third 
priest. 

I understood! 

I stood where I had been, in the shadow 
of one of the balconies, as I had listened 
to the conversation with the priests. Would 
she enter that door, with the priests, into the 
inner inclosure of the temple? 

As they neared the entrance, I noticed the 
forms of several women pass before a light 
within the temple. They were young wom- 

214 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

en — they were the "devadasis," the daugh- 
ters of the gods. 

The woman hesitated at the door. She 
began to understand! An instant later she 
turned suddenly away, and made her way 
rapidly along the temple inclosure. She 
entered an alley that led back into the main 
thoroughfare, and was gone. 

I turned, with a sigh of rehef, toward the 
river. Out in the current a tiny raft of 
straw, bearing a single light, went floating 
down the stream. It had come thus far 
safely on its uncertain way. 

I thought of the woman. It was a good 
omen! The abyss had not yet swallowed 
her. But I knew she was on a treacherous 
way — the darkness surrounded her. 

• •«*•••• 

Five years passed. I was back again in 
Muttra, attending a convention at the Mis- 
sion Training School for Christian women. 
European, Indian, and Anglo-Indian young 
women were receiving a practical training 
for Christian service. 

Among the candidates was a new arrival 
— an Indian woman with a httle child. Her 

215 



INDIA, BELOVED OF HEAVEN 

story was on the lips of all. She had been 
a pilgrim. Her husband had died and she 
had wandered far from shrine to shrine, 
carrying her child with her. She sought en- 
lightenment — peace for a distracted spirit. 

She came a few weeks since on a pil- 
grimage to Muttra — had been there before. 
In the darkness of that heathen stronghold 
the light suddenly shone in on her. She 
heard a man preach of a Saviour. It was 
what she sought. She listened, and heard 
for the first time the story of the love of 
Jesus. Her hungry heart cried out for him. 
She forgot Krishna, and Ram, and Jagan- 
nath. She had found Christ! She spoke 
to the preacher, and he brought her to the 
missionaries at the Training School. Now 
she was learning to read. Some day — soon, 
she hoped — she could herself carry the mes- 
sage, out into the darkness from which she 
had come. 

Later in the day I saw her, studying with 
a group under the shade of a spreading nim 
tree. Something in her face made me think 
of the Hindu woman with the Persian pat- 
tern, whom I had followed through the 

216 



WITH THE GODS IN MUTTRA 

crowded streets of Muttra a few years ago. 
It was a passing fancy. It could not be 
she — this woman was considerably older. 

Just then her child — a girl of three — came 
running toward her from behind the tree. 
She was draped in a httle chadar with a 
Persian pattern! Material and figures were 
identical with the one so well remembered. 

I looked at the mother, as she lifted her 
smiling face to her winsome little daughter. 
The love-light had taken away ten years 
from her looks. I recognized the woman 
with the Persian pattern! 

I had left her in the darkness. I found 
her in the hght! 



217 



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